If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. (:
Friday, 4 February 2011
Imagination is a strong, restless faculty, which claims to be heard and exercised: are we to be quite deaf to her cry, and insensate to her struggles? When she shows us bright pictures, are we never to look at them, and try to reproduce them? And when she is eloquent, and speaks rapidly and urgently in our ear, are we not to write to her dictation?