We have many shelves of poetry at home, but still, it takes an effort to step out of the daily narrative of existence, draw that neglected cloak of stillness around you—and concentrate, if only for three or four minutes. Perhaps the greatest reading pleasure has an element of self-annihilation. To be so engrossed that you barely know you exist… What is it precisely, that feeling of ‘returning’ from a poem? Something is lighter, softer, larger—then it fades, but never completely.
– Ian McEwan,