I was now so much bigger that I could not see myself anymore.

As big as a landscape in the distance. I was in the distance.

More perceptible in my ultimate mountains and in my most remote rivers.

(…)

How can I say it, if not timidly like this: life is it self my self. Life is it self my self, and I don’t understand what I say. And then I adore.

(Clarice Lispector, A paixão segundo G.H.)