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
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