Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call reality? -- not so grand or so strong, it may be, but always lovelier? Fair as is the gliding sloop on the shining sea, the wavering, trembling, resting sail below is fairer still... All mirrors are magic mirrors. The commonest room is a room in a poem when I turn to the glass... There must be a truth involved in it, though we may but in part lay hold of the meaning.

Phantastes