Think you to‑morrow when the fulness of life's treasure is mine, that it will hold aught that is new or strange to me? I tell you that I long have known each masterpiece that hangs upon the walls of my To Be, and each royal robe that I shall wear was spun from starshine in my dreams; and not a jewel shall rest upon my brow but whose strange light has long enchanted me, and not a strain shall rise to charm my ear but whose far melody has long been playing in my soul. ~Muriel Strode (1875–1964), My Little Book