Familiarity (n.) is less of an experience than unfamiliarity, which we contrast with it along with surprise.
Familiarity (n.) arriving may be just a smile, a relief, and the name coming to mind or mouth.
Familiarity (n.) may lie not in greeting my chairs with 'Oh, hello!' but in the way I walk about my room, take something out of a drawer, sit down.
Familiarity (n.) is no feeling when I see a well-known face; a feeling of familiarity is rather like well-being, whose expression is a cat's purr.
Familiarity (n.) comes in kinds: a stranger who is plainly a man, a swathed thing that might be a beast, a queer object always on my table that I never cared to understand.
Familiarity (n.) cannot be subtracted from a friend's face, any more than a butterfly can be imagined just as it is, but ugly.
Familiarity (n.) lies not in a picture's history but in immediately grasping its rhythm and feeling at home with it.
Familiarity (n.) is being at home in what I see: a steady glance, no restless questioning of the object.
Familiarity (n.) cannot be thought away: imagine a butterfly exactly as it is but ugly instead of beautiful, and the idea has no clear sense.