“It is things go­ing right,” he cried, “that is po­et­ical! Our di­ges­tions, for in­stance, go­ing sac­redly and si­lently right, that is the found­a­tion of all po­etry. Yes, the most po­et­ical thing, more po­et­ical than the flowers, more po­et­ical than the stars—the most po­et­ical thing in the world is not be­ing sick.”