For a moment, she felt separated from the life she lived, in which there was no fragrance, no silence, in which nothing ever quite fit nor was quite filled. In that moment, the ordered disapproval of the buildings around the pallid park could not reach her; for two, three clean breaths, it no longer mattered that the whole wide world really belongs to images projected on a screen; to gently groomed goddesses in these steel-and-glass towers; that it belonged, in short, always, always to someone else.

— Theodore Sturgeon, E Pluribus Unicorn

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