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Updated: April 30, 2025
To him the ancient broken tower, standing alone, would have little charm in comparison with this faithful restoration of the old church, that enables him to see what he never could have seen but for its being shown to him in brick and mortar. But to the pilgrim of the other sort day-dreamer, if you will there must come a sense not of gain but of loss.
He was a great day-dreamer, a seer of fit and beautiful and humorous visions, but hardly a great artist; hardly, in the manful sense, an artist at all. He pleased himself, and so he pleases us. Of the pleasures of his art he tasted fully; but of its toils and vigils and distresses never man knew less. A great romantic an idle child.
And whilst his Minister, his Prefect, and his Commissary of Police were fighting for common sense and public order, the Emperor preserved his wonted silence the deep silence of a day-dreamer which nobody ever penetrated. Petitions arrived day by day, yet he held his tongue. Bishops came, great personages, great ladies of his circle watched and drew him on one side, and still he held his tongue.
His next life may be as carnal as the celestial hunting-ground of the Indian or the promised paradise of the Moslem. It may be only the air-castle of a day-dreamer. There is no moral transformation. There is no expulsive power of a new and higher aspiration. Old things have not passed away; nothing has become new.
And whilst his Minister, his Prefect, and his Commissary of Police were fighting for common sense and public order, the Emperor preserved his wonted silence the deep silence of a day-dreamer which nobody ever penetrated. Petitions arrived day by day, yet he held his tongue. Bishops came, great personages, great ladies of his circle watched and drew him on one side, and still he held his tongue.
The Town Boys will leave the Elephant and trail behind my comical Chariot. In my Hour of Triumph the Air will be impregnated with Calliope Music and the Smell of Pop-Corn, modified by Wild Animals." When he came back the Boy was ten years old. "We started wrong," whispered Ambition, curling up in the cool grass near the Day-Dreamer.
She smiled divinely, with the air of a day-dreamer, her eyes gazing into vacancy, her thoughts so far away, so absorbed in her one fixed idea, that she beheld nothing save the certainty of her hope. Round about her, the Sainte-Honorine Ward was now quite deserted, all the patients, excepting Madame Vetu, who lay at the last extremity in the next bed, having already started for the Grotto.
"Do you suppose I could?" she asked innocently. "Do I suppose, little girl?" he said, taking her hand. "Do I suppose? Why, I know. You're the dearest little day-dreamer in the world. Of course you could write poetry. You live it. You are poetry, my dear. Don't you worry about writing any." This eulogy touched her as nothing else possibly could have done. He was always saying such nice things.
"And how slight a loss was laughter," she murmured still with the vague and gentle eyes of a day-dreamer "as set against all that we never earned in youth, and so will never earn." He inadequately answered "Bosh!" and later, "Do you remember ?" he began. Yes, she remembered that, it developed. And "Do you remember ?" she in turn was asking later.
The impractical man usually likes to think of himself as an ideal being, living in an ideal world, surrounded by ideal people, associated together under ideal conditions. In other words, he is a day-dreamer, dreaming of those things which delight him most, without thought as to their foundation in fact, or the possibility of putting them into practice.
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