all art is deception and so is nature; all
is deception in that good cheat, from the insect that mimics a
leaf to the popular enticements of procreation. Do you know how
poetry started? I always think that it started when a cave boy
came running back to the cave, through the tall grass, shouting
as he ran, "Wolf, wolf," and there was no wolf. His baboon-like
parents, great sticklers for the truth, gave him a hiding, no
doubt, but poetry had been born - the tall story had been born
in the tall grass. Vladimir Nabokov
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