Thus she abides; her Towers forever rising, forever vanishing. Never or Always. - John Cowper Powys

Children's aesthetic sense is a deep half-animal feeling and when it is outraged it leaves a wound behind it that never quite heals up.

"A limit there must be," thought Sam, "to the sympathy one soul can give to other souls — or all would perish."

The world is not made of bread and honey…nor of the sweet flesh of girls. This world is made of clouds and of the shadows of clouds. It is made of mental landscapes, porous as air, where men and women are as trees walking, and as reeds shaken by the wind.