“Only a sheaf of peacock’s feathers standing in a vase on a chest of drawers did not submit to regimentation. These feathers were a dangerous, frivolous element, hiding rebelliousness, like a class of naughty schoolgirls who are quiet and composed in appearance, but full of mischief when no longer watched. The eyes of those feathers never stopped staring; they made holes in the walls, winking, fluttering their eyelashes, smiling to one another, giggling and full of mirth. They filled the room with whispers and chatter; they scattered like butterflies around the many-armed lamps; like a motley crowd they pushed against the matted elderly mirrors, unused to such bustle and gaiety; they peeped through the keyholes.”

—Bruno Schulz, “The Street of Crocodiles”, The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories, 1934; translated by Celina Wieniewska.