to the magicians who woke me from my thousand-year sleep I will not be clapped in a hood, Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist, Now I have learnt to be proud Hovering over the wood In the broken mist Or tumbling cloud. —WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS, “THE HAWK” If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time. —MARCEL PROUST, IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME, VOL. II Are you sure that a floor cannot also be a ceiling? —M. C. ESCHER, “ON BEING A GRAPHIC ARTIST”
