Milan may cast him out, as did Florence another of his kind, but this human rejection will but bring him into that empire which no enmity may touch, in the calm of whose divinely ordered government treasons are unknown.

No man finds himself until he has created a world for his own soul; a world apart from care and weakness and the confusions of strife, in which the faiths that inspire him and the ideals that lead him are the great and lasting verities.

To this world-building all the great poetic minds are driven; within this invisible empire alone can they reconcile the life that surrounds them with the life that floats like a dream before them.

No great mind is ever at rest until in some way the Real and the Ideal are found to be one.

Literature is full of these beautiful homes of the soul, reared without the sound of chisel or hammer by the magic of the Imagination--divinest of the faculties, since it is the only one which creates.