What was done to him was like what happens on the train, when you think you are moving forward, but are moving backward, and suddenly find out the real direction.
"Yes, it was all not right," he said to himself, "but never mind. I can, I can do 'right.' But what is 'right'?" he asked himself and suddenly grew still.
--from The Death of Ivan Ilyich
The Elimination of Metaphysics
Henry: Guess what Molly! I made the greatest soup ever last night for dinner!
Molly: Oh really? What kind?
Henry: I call it “Soup Itself.”
Molly: Wow. Must be good. What’s the recipe?
Henry: Recipe! “Soup Itself” is not answerable to any “recipes,” of course.
Molly: Ok ok, of course. Well what did you put in the soup?
Henry: I can’t tell you that.
Molly: Ahh. Top secret ingredients?
Henry: (puzzled) No, I just don’t know what to tell you.
Molly: You mean, you don’t remember?
Henry: (more puzzled) No, I remember.
Henry: I think I just can’t “say” it. This soup cannot be “said.”
Molly: What?? How about I watch you make the soup?
Henry: I don’t think that’s possible.
Molly: Why not?
Henry: (furrows brows)
Molly: Can I at least taste it?
Henry: No. It cannot be tasted.
Molly: What do you mean it cannot be tasted? Do you not have any left?
Henry: Yes, I have some left.
Molly: Then why can’t I taste some?
Henry: Because Soup itself is not tasteable, at least in a physical sense.
Molly: (walks away).