Work up imagination to the state of vision.
Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
When the doors of perception are cleansed, men will see things as they truly are, infinite.
He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
Everything to be imagined is an image of truth.
The cistern contains: The fountain overflows.