" She did not pine for her father, Laura, the familiar beloved faces of home. It was her home itself she missed, Valtorsa, the high cool rooms, the orchards and vineyards and fields, the line of the mountains on the sky, the lake, the stones of the lake-shore. Piera was one to whom the thing, not its use nor its meaning, but the thing itself mattered; she knew the thing only, as a lark knows the sun or a wolf the rain. What was given her she accepted, willingly. But what was taken from her she missed, and did not cease to miss. "

― Ursula K. Le Guin , Malafrena