There are too many painful things for people to go on living in reality. Thus, humans run and hide in dreams.
“Though I’ve roamed through many places,
None there is that my heart troweth
Fair as that wherein fair groweth
One whose laud here interlaces
Tuneful words, that I’ve essayed.
Let this tune be gently played
Which my voice herward upraises.”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: To Be Sung Beneath a Window”