He is a man in the act of vanishing one way or another. He wants you to let him in. He is like the soul of a dead lover, come back to the surface of the earth because he did not have enough of it and is still hungry
but he is far from dead. Though the hair lifts on your arms and cold air flows over your threshold from him, you have never seen anyone so alive
as he touches, just touches your hand with his left hand, the clean one, and whispers Please in any language.
- Margaret Atwood, Eating Fire












