On Familiarity, a Passage -- by Alex Ranieri

To name something is to notice it. For instance, when one is unaware the tree he passes every day is a black locust, he is apt to glance at it only occasionally; it comes as a surprise when the flowers first exude their perfume, or when the seedpods start to fall. When once he knows its name, however, the tree becomes a sort of acquaintance. This plucks the tree from the tangle of overgrown information which his brain must, for his own sake, entirely ignore, and enables him to expect and watch for its changes.

This notice amply repays the student his learning-pains; without it, he never steps out of the half-aware dread of dream—with it, as many times a day as he passes that which he can name, he is lifted out of himself, in the subtle pleasure of recognition.