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“In fact, this passion, which at first I had thought impossible, insignificant, sheer fantasy, which was inflamed by Maitreyi herself — who, I had so long belived, was in love with me but is in reality, in love with one — this passion has me in thrall and carries me far away, to an unknown and unearthly region of my soul, to some border territory of my mind where I am blissfully happy, radiant with grace. I have no name for that intimate realm.” — Mircea Eliade
In fact, this passion, which at first I had thought impossible, insignificant, sheer fantasy, which was inflamed by Maitreyi herself — who, I had so long belived, was in love with me but is in reality, in love with one — this passion has me in thrall and carries me far away, to an unknown and unearthly region of my soul, to some border territory of my mind where I am blissfully happy, radiant with grace. I have no name for that intimate realm.