Now----Whoever has reached mature life is wise to let these wings remain idle.

The mortal who ventures to use them may easily approach too near the sun, and, like Icarus, the wax will melt from his pinions.

Let me tell you this: To the child the gift of imagination is nourishing bread.

In later years we need it only as salt, as spice, as stimulating wine.

Doubtless it points out many paths, and shows us their end; but, of a hundred rambles to which it summons him, scarcely one pleases the mature man.