‘Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than that which you really mean; that’s the whole art and joy of words.’ A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?
— C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces