“This vast and curious universe, with its impenetrable destinies, these wild and spinning masses lit by strange fires, dashing hither and thither to destruction through cold and illimitable space, or running obediently round and round, like the squirrel in his cage, this singular planet we ourselves adorn, humming with its queer freight of animal and vegetable life, its squalor and materialism lit, as by wavering candles, by beauty, by valour, and by dreams – certainly the whole universe is built of the very fabric of romance.”
Rose Macaulay, A Casual Commentary
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