It seems to me that the pleasure one feels in a work of art is just one thing that one does not have to explain. - Willa Cather

There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.

The sky was as full of motion and change as the desert beneath it was monotonous and still, — and there was so much sky, more than at sea, more than anywhere else in the world. The plain was there, under one’s feet, but what one saw when one looked about was that brilliant blue world of stinging air and moving cloud. Even the mountains were mere ant-hills under it. Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky. The landscape one longed for when one was away, the thing all about one, the world one actually lived in, was the sky, the sky!

Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge.