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"Prisons of finitude! Like every other being, man is born in many prisons. Soul, body, thought, intuition, endeavour: everything about him has a limit, is itself tangible limitation; everything is a This and a That, different from other things and shunned by them. From the grilled windows of the senses each person looks out to the alien things which he will never be... How far it is from one being to its closest neighbor! And even if they love each other and wave to one another from island to island, even if they attempt to exchange solitudes and pretend they have unity, how much more painfully does disappointment then fall upon them when they touch the invisible bars - the cold glass pane against which they hurl themselves like captive birds. No one can tear down his own dungeon; no one can know who inhabits the next cell... Beings are alien to one another, even if they do stand beautifully by one another and complement one another like colors, like water and stone, like sun and fog: even if they do communally perfect the resounding harmony of the universe... The limpid mirror has been shattered, infinite image has been shattered over the face of the world, the world has become a heap of fragments. But every single splinter remains precious, and from each fragment there flashes a ray of the mystery of its origin."

- Hans Urs von Balthasar (Heart of the World, s. 19-20)