“Once in Mexico I saw a fine fierce man sitting on the steps 
of a straw jacal. A girl lay on her back, her head in his lap and with
such an infinite tenderness and great skill, he combed the black and
shining waterfall of her hair. Her mouth was half open with pleasure
and her eyes closed, and it seemed to me I had never seen or felt
anything so beautiful and I wished that some day I could be a part of
such a closeness, but of course I never can nor will. Maybe it’s
enough to have seen it. Some things there are that continue
happening forever. I can see them now, his left hand
supporting the hair, his right hand combing, and I can see
her breast rise and fall as though the air she breathed
had taste and texture, as though the light around them
was beloved. That hair was combed over twenty
years ago and it is still being combed.”

– John Steinbeck
in a private letter to
Frank Loesser,
1960