William Somerset Maugham. The moon and sixpence (№ 187026)

Oddly enough, but when it's all over, you suddenly feel unusually pure, immaterial. You as a disembodied spirit, and here touches beauty, like the beauty of the tangible. It seems to you that you have merged with the wind, with the trees on which the buds swelled, with iridescent waters of the river. You like a God. And can you explain why?