“And yet even as I thought the words, I was aware of a strange lack. I could have wished for a companion, to be near me in the starlight, silent and not moving if you like, but ever near and within touch. For there is, after all, a sort of fellowship more quiet even than solitude, and which, rightly understood, is solitude made perfect.”
— Robert Louis Stevenson.
Beautiful words–and ones whose implications are more than a little sad, as they are so elusive, yet so desirable.