He was digging up moths and they were flying up and landing on his forearms and he was licking them off his forearms. And then he wandered on and kind of took a nap for most of the day.
Madness string 3608
Do they sense it, these dead writers, when their books are read? Does a pinprick of light appear in their darkness? Is their soul stirred by the feather touch of another mind reading theirs? I do hope so.