I have a friend who speaks of knowledge as an island in a sea of mystery. . . . We dredge up soil from the bed of mystery and build ourselves room to grow. And still the mystery surrounds us. It laps at our shores. It permeates the land. Scratch the surface of knowledge and mystery bubbles up like a spring.
I am content to follow to its source Every event in action or in thought; Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot. When such as I cast out remorse So great a sweetness flows into the breast. We must laugh and we must sing, We are blest by everything, Everything we look upon is blest.
~ from "A Dialogue of Self and Soul" by William Yeats
