Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little.

For what made that in glory shine so long But poets' Pens, pluckt from Archangels' wings?

... in daily speech, where we don't stop to consider every word, we all use phrases like "the ordinary world," "ordinary life," "the ordinary course of events" ... But in the language of poetry, where every word is weighed, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all, not a single existence, not anyone's existence in this world.

I get this terrible itch. An itch I can only scratch with a pen or a keyboard.

Pen and ink is wit's plough

Goose [pen] bee [wax] and calf [parchment] govern the world. [Lat., Anser, apie, vitellus, populus et regna gubernant.]