And while he compared all these things which he was seeing with his eyes to the mental pictures he had painted of them in his homesickness it became clear to him that he was after all destined to be a poet and he saw that in poets dreams reside a beauty and enchantment that one seeks in vain in the things of the real world.
Ambitions and dreams put you at a drinking table with unexpected companions. Cups were filled and refilled making you drunk with the illusion of changing the world.
Our revels now are ended. These our actorsAs I foretold you were all spirits andAre melted into air into thin airAnd like the baseless fabric of this visionThe cloud-cappd towrs the gorgeous palacesThe solemn temples the great glove itselfYea all which it inherit shall dissolveAnd like this insubstantial pageant faded Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuffAs dreams are made on and our little lifeIs rounded with a sleep.