“ ‘My dear master, explain red to somebody who has never known red.’
    ‘If we touched it with the tip of a finger, it would feel like something between iron and copper. If we took it into our palm, it would burn. If we tasted it, it would be full-bodied, like salted meat. If we took it between our lips, it would fill our mouths. If we smelled it, it’d have the scent of a horse. If it were a flower, it would smell like a daisy, not a red rose.‘. . .
    ‘What is the meaning of red?’ the blind miniaturist . . . asked again.
‘The meaning of a color is that it is there before us and we see it,’ said the other. ‘Red cannot be explained to he who cannot see.’ ”

—Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red, 2001.