Men of dreams, the lovers and the poets, are better in most things than the men of my sort; the men of intellect. You take your being from your mothers. You live to the full: it is given you to love with your whole strength, to know and taste the whole of life. We thinkers, though we often seem to rule you, cannot live half your joy and full reality. Ours is a thin and arid life, but the fullness of being is yours; yours the sap of the fruit, the garden of lovers, the joyous pleasuances of beauty. Your home is the earth, ours the idea of it. You sleep on your mother’s breast, I watch the wilderness. On me shines the sun; on you the moon with all the stars.
—
Hermann Hesse
Narcissus and Goldmund
(via hermannhesse)
I will quote this to the next person who accuses me of living with my head in the clouds or that I am out of touch with reality because the fact is I rarely have much interest in reality.