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All art is but imitation of nature.
Seneca
We fly to Beauty as an asylum from the terrors of finite nature.

CXII



Your love and pity doth the impression fill,

Which vulgar scandal stamp\'d upon my brow;

For what care I who calls me well or ill, 

So you o\'er-green my bad, my good allow?

You are my all-the-world, and I must strive

To know my shames and praises from your tongue;

None else to me, nor I to none alive,

That my steel\'d sense or changes right or wrong.

In so profound abysm I throw all care

Of others\' voices, that my adder\'s sense

To critic and to flatterer stopped are.

Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:

  You are so strongly in my purpose bred,

  That all the world besides methinks are dead.

 	--William Shakespeare

I have left orders to be awakened at any time in case of national
emergency, even if I\'m in a cabinet meeting.
Ronald Reagan