" He lay back against the crunching branches ad half shut his eyes. The rain was a soft sweet veil of silver around him. As he glanced upwards the heavens opened as if for a laser beam, and he saw the moon, the full moon, the meaningless and irrelevant full moon in all its blessed glory, floating in a wreath of clouds, against the distant stars.
A deep love of all he saw settled over him-love for the splendor of the moon and the sparkling fragments of light that drifted beyond it-for the enfolding forest that sheltered him so completely, for the rain that carried the dazzling light of the skies to the shimmering bower in which he lay.
A flame burned in him, a faith that a comprehending Power existed, animating all this that it had created and sustaining it with a love beyond anything that he, Reuben, could imagine. "
― Anne Rice , The Wolf Gift (The Wolf Gift Chronicles, #1)