The miracles of the church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.
—Willa Cather (1873–1947)
Is Eden out of time and out of space?
And do you gather about us when pale light
Shining on water and fallen among leaves,
And winds blowing from flowers, and whirr of feathers
And the green quiet, have uplifted the heart?
—William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing boy.
—William Wordsworth (1770–1850)