A blurred region, in the heart of vastness. I am the prisoner of an alien matter—or rather I have no body, I am that alien matter. Out of the enveloping pink mist, an invisible object touches me. Inert, I am being touched, and I feel this contact like a hand, and the hand recreates me. Until now, I thought I saw, but had no eyes: now I have eyes! Under the caress of the hesitant fingers, my lips and cheeks emerge from the void, and as the caress goes further I have a face, breath stirs in my chest—I exist.

—Stanislaw Lem, Solaris, 1961