He just stood and looked at his dying mother, his heart too full for words. - William Faulkner

It was that his words, his telling, just did not synchronize with what his hearers believed would (and must) be the scope of a single individual.

...probably by that time he had learned that there were three things and no more: breathing, pleasure, darkness; and without money there could be no pleasure, and without pleasure it would not even be breathing but mere protoplasmic inhale and collapse of blind unorganism in a darkness where light never began.

Now she hates me. I have taught her that, at least.