He was a harp; all life that he had known and
that was his consciousness was the strings; and
the flood of music was a wind that poured
against those strings and set them vibrating
with memories and dreams . . . Past, present,
and future mingled; and he went on oscillating
across the broad, warm world, through high
adventure and noble deeds to Her--ay, and
with her, winning her, his arm about her, and
carrying her on in flight across the empery of
his mind.

                        --Jack London, "Martin Eden"

--The Wandering Bard--