Thomas Pynchon (1937-)
It appeared in the middle of our street one day. It was as high as the streetlights and as wide as our Ford.
We came out one early morning, right after dawn, to see it standing there. It loomed over us, this monolith, burned and tan as the desert, as if it had watched us from its place on the surface of the sun.
The adults on our street tried to move it, but it was stuck there as if its roots stretched all the way down like crooked fingers to snatch at the core of the planet. We deemed, or it did, that it would stay.
Words do not express thoughts very well; every thing immediately becomes a little different, a little distorted, a little foolish. And yet it also pleases me and seems right that what is of value and wisdom of one man seems nonsense to another.
Gautama Buddha (via kushandwizdom)