“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]