" I have nowhere to return to. It's like a state of imprisonment. The walls of the cell are the horizon of what I can see. Beyond them exists a world that's alien to me and doesn't belong to me. So for people like me the only thing possible is here and now, for every future is doubtful, everything yet to come is barely sketched and uncerain, like a mirage that can be destroyed by the slightest twitch of the air. That's what was going through my mind as we sat there in silence. It was better than a conversation. "

― Olga Tokarczuk , Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead