It is impossible to be with him an hour without breathing a new wholesome air, charged with beauty. It is impossible to be with him and not catch the spectacular glory of the present moment. At the power of his presence, before the eloquence of his eyes, poverty, neglect, and such trifles become as nothing. One feels bathed in a brilliant and even tangible light, for it is the light he sees, and which, he would have us believe, is about us on our gallant journey toward death. All the scales of pettiness fall off the soul. The spirit stands up, clean, shining, valiant, in a unconscious effort to match his. But then he is gone, with his tears and laughter and his dazzling glory. "Come, come," his eyes say. "Behold the perilous road!" No one follows, I believe. And sometimes I wonder if he cares. "You will die, stifled with comfortability and normality, choked by small joys and small sorrows." Such is his warning as he goes. What can a man do with a fellow like that?
-- from Mr. Blue, by Myles Connolly