Syme, you are a poet.

Stare at those morning clouds.

But I tell you this, that you will have found out the truth of the last tree and the top-most cloud before the truth about me.

You will understand the sea, and I shall be still a riddle; you shall know what the stars are, and not know what I am.

Since the beginning of the world all men have hunted me like a wolf--kings and sages, and poets and lawgivers, all the churches, and all the philosophies.