The message, the messenger, and you.

“The Emperor, or so they say, has sent you - his single most contemptible subject, the miniscule shadow that has fled the farthest distance from the imperial sun - only to you has the Emperor sent a message from his deathbed. He has had the messenger kneel beside his bed and he has whispered the message to him; so important was this message that he has made him repeat it in his ear. He has confirmed the accuracy of the words with a nod of his head. And then, before all the spectators assembled to witness his death - every wall obstructing the view had been knocked down and on the free standing, vaulted staircase, all the dignitaries of the empire were gathered in a circle - before them all, he has dispatched the messenger. The messenger sets off at once, a strong and tireless man; sometimes thrusting ahead with one arm, sometimes with the other, he beats a path through the crowd; where he meets resistance, he points to the sign of the sun on his breast, and he forges ahead with an ease that could be matched by no other. But the throng is so thick, there's no end to their dwellings.” –Franz Kafka