This passage from The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot is often how I feel about Ms. Bloom.
"Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence."
No need to address the rest of the piece, just these lines will suffice.