“A little green bird was observing her, so brilliant and neat that it might have hopped straight out of a shop. On catching her eye it closed its own, gave a small skip and prepared to go to bed. Some Indian wild bird. . . .
    ‘Do you know what the name of that green bird up above us is?’ she asked, putting her shoulder rather nearer to his.
    ‘Bee-eater.’
    ‘Oh no, Ronny, it has red bars on its wings.’
    ‘Parrot,’ he hazarded.
    ‘Good gracious no.’
    The bird in question dived into the dome of the tree. It was of no importance, yet they would have liked to identify it, it would somehow have solaced their hearts. But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else.”

—E.M. Forster, A Passage to India, 1924.