No estoy seguro de nada excepto de la santidad del afecto del Corazón y la verdad de la Imaginación. Aquello que la imaginación capta como Belleza ha… - John Keats

Then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,
He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;
'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
Invulnerable nothings. We decay
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another