"The Walls enriched with Fruit-trees and faced with a covering of their leafy extensions; I should rather have said hung with different Pieces of Nature's noblest Tapestry."

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But when the door shuts on us, all that vanishes. The shell-like covering which our souls have excreted to house themselves, to make for themselves a shape distinct from others, is broken, and there is left of all these wrinkles and roughnesses a central oyster of perceptiveness, an enormous eye. How beautiful a street is in winter!

— Virginia Woolf