Art and power will go on as they have done,–will make day out of night, time out of space, and space out of time.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
For me, its balmy airs are always blowing, its summer seas flashing in the sun; the pulsing of its surf is in my ear; I can see its garlanded crags, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms drowsing by the shore, its remote summits floating like islands above the cloud-rack; I can feel the spirit of its woody solitudes. I hear the plashing of the brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breath of flowers that perished twenty years ago.
-Mark Twain, A Biography
