" [..] If love returns us our reflection, then solitude is like being denied the use of a mirror, and allowing one’s imagination to make what it will of a cut or spot we know we have on our face. Whatever the damage, at least the mirror returns us a sense of ourselves, gives us a clear outline with which we may answer the boundless of our imagination. Because a sense of who we are is not self-generated, fuzziness accompanied Chloe in the desert, the outlines of her character blurring away from the focus of others, her imagination taking hold of her and expanding her into a monstrous create, swollen with the paranoias and delusions it may engender. "
― Alain de Botton , On Love