"Something is listening, and I listen, too: who is it that intrudes here? Who is breathing? i picka fern to see its spores, cast it away, and am filled in that instant with misgiving: the great sins, so the Sherpas say, are to pick wild flowers and to threaten children. My voice murmurs its regret, a strange sound that deepens the intrusion. I look about me--who is it that spoke? and who is listening? Who is this ever-present 'I' that is not me?"

-Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard (pg.141)