In the friendship I speak of, our souls mingle and blend with each other so completely that they efface the seam that joined them, and cannot find it again. If you press me to tell why I loved him, I feel that this cannot be expressed, except by answering: Because it was he, because it was I.
Michel de Montaigne
The Complete Works
January 19, 2011
[click to enlarge]
In the Forum: the Dickens, you say.