I cried at the end of Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck because I thought it was the best writing I had ever read. My tears had nothing to do with the storyline whatsoever, I was simply overcome with emotion by the thrill of his mastery of this language.
I write for many reasons, one of the most important being that I revel in the pleasant pain of it, but I also like to think that the act is my adherence to a Chinese proverb that says there are three ways to become immortal: have a child, plant a tree, or write. I don't own property and I don't foresee my first child anytime soon, so it's back to the keyboard for me.