What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident? And are there not moods which need heaven hell purgatory and faeryland for their expression no less than this dilapidated earth? Nay are there not moods which shall find no expression unless there be men who dare to mix heaven hell purgatory and faeryland together or even to set the heads of beasts to the bodies of men or to thrust the souls of men into the heart of rocks? Let us go forth the tellers of tales and seize whatever prey the heart long for and have no fear. Everything exists everything is true and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.-W. B. Yeats