From Watchmen by Alan Moore

Is it possible, I wonder, to study a bird so closely, to observe and catalogue is peculiarities in such minute detail, that it becomes invisible?  Is it possible that while fastidiously calibrating the span of its wings or the length of its tarsus, we somehow lose sight of its poetry?  That in our pedestrian descriptions of a marbled or vermiculated plumage we forfeit a glimpse of living canvases, cascades of carefully toned browns and golds that would shame Kandinsky, misty explosions of color to rival Monet?  I believe that we do.  I believe that in approaching our subject with the sensibilities of statisticians and dissectionists, we distance ourselves increasingly from the marvelous and spell-binding planet of imagination whose gravity drew us to our studies in the first place.

— Blood from the Shoulder of Pallas – in Watchmen by Alan Moore.

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