Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more

Stendhal

The sun strikes hot in these mountains, but even when its light is shining full upon them, here, on this terrace, magnificent plane trees protect the traveller and his dreams.

Heraclitus

Those unmindful when they hear,
for all they make of their intelligence,
may be regarded as the walking dead.