Dragons will wander about the waste places, and the phoenix will soar from her nest of fire into the air. We shall lay our hands upon the Basilisk, and see the jewel in the toad's head. Champing his gilded oats, the hippogriff will stand in our stalls, and over our heads will float the bluebird, singing of beautiful and impossible things, of things that are lovely and that never happened, of things that are not and that should be. --Oscar Wilde (The Decay of Lying)