And such are all true ideals, dreams, and aspirations.

They have their roots in the same earth whence the commonest weed grows; but the light and life of the heavens are theirs also.

In them the visible and the invisible are harmonised; in them the real finds its completion in the ideal.

The common earth is common only to those who are deaf to the voices and blind to the visions which wait on it and make its flight a music and its path a light.

Out of these common things the great artists build the homes of our souls.
Rock-founded are they, and broad-based on our mother earth; but they have windows skyward, and there, above the tumult of the little earth, the great worlds sing.
IV You do yet taste Some subtilities o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain.
One brilliant morning, the sky cloudless and the sea singing under a freshening wind, we sat under a great tree, with a bit of soft sward before us, and talked of Prospero.