“The observations and encounters of a devotee of solitude and silence are at once less distinct and more penetrating than those of the sociable man; his thoughts are weightier, stranger, and never without a twinge of sadness.
Images and perceptions which might otherwise be easily dispelled by a glance, a laugh, an exchange of comments, concern him unduly, they sink into mute depths, take on significance, become experiences, adventures, emotions.
The fruit of solitude is originality, something daringly and disconcertingly beautiful, the poetic creation.
But the fruit of solitude can also be the perverse, the disproportionate, the absurd and the forbidden".
From the story “Death in Venice” by Thomas Mann written in Germany in 1912.