He recalled the noisy music at dinner and said to himself, ``Noise has one advantage. It drowns out words.'' And suddenly he realized that all his life he had done nothing but talk, write, lecture, concoct sentences, search for formulations and amend them, so in the end no words were precise, their meanings were obliterated, their content lost, they turned into trash, chaff, dust, sand; prowling through his brain, tearing at his head, they were his insomnia, his illness. And what he yearned for at that moment, vaguely but with all his might, was a unbounded music, absolute sound, a pleasant and happy all-encompassing, the futility, the vanity of words.
~The Unbearable Lightness of Being
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