" Words save us from truth. When we have the words for a thing, when we feel that we describe something exactly, we feel, at the same time, that the thing itself kicks us away, that it expels us from its meaning, that it abandons us in its own empty representation. In a strange sort of way, at the same time, the thing becomes the kick, the expelled meaning, its embalmed image. Even more so when that same thing, the thing you’re called upon to describe, is like resignation in flight, consumption in fear, devotion in panic. "

― Michel Fais , Mechanisms of Loss: Two Novellas