Faces in the Water - Pg 90

   I watched from the special table, as from a seat in a concert hall, the raging mass of people performing their violent orchestration of unreason that seemed like a new kind of music of curse and cry with the undertone of silence flowing from the quiet ones, the curled-up, immovable and nameless; and the movement was a ballet, and the choreographer was Insanity; and the whole room seemed like a microfilm of atoms in prison dress revolving and voyaging, if that were possible, in search of their lost nucleus.