The Wind in the Willows

by Kenneth Grahame

Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not.

It's my world, and I don't want any other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it doesn't know is not worth knowing.