Excerpt from George Bernard Shaw's, "John Bull's Other Island" -- "Your wits can't thicken in that soft moist air, on those white springy roads, in those misty rushes and brown bogs, on those hillsides of granite rocks and magenta heather. You've no such colours in the sky, no such lure in the distance, no such sadness in the evenings. Oh the dreaming! the dreaming! the torturing, heart scalding, never satisfying dreaming, dreaming, dreaming."