“There are not many persons who know what wonders are
opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth;
for when as children we learn and dream, we think but
half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember,
we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life. But
some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of
enchanted hills and gardens, of fountains that sing in
the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of
plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and
stone, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride
caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick
forests; and then we know that we have looked back
through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which
was ours before we were wise and unhappy.”
[H.P. Lovecraft]