If my praise her grace effaces,
Then ’tis not my heart that showeth,
But the skilless tongue that soweth
Words unworthy of her graces.
Tongue, that hath me so betrayed,
Were my heart but here displayed,
Then were sung her fitting praises.
“The fantasy that dominates our world, the enormous novel we live inside, is the new reality. A giant billboard image of Drew Barrymore lying across an unmade bed is a more real landscape than the Sahara desert.”