He was a harp, a tool;

and all life that he had known,

and all that was his consciousness was the strings;

and the flood of music was a wind that poured against those strings

and set them vibrating with memories and dreams . . .

Past, present, and future mingled;

and he went on oscillating across the broad, warm world,

through high adventure and noble deeds
to Her--ay, and with her, winning her, his arm about her,

carrying her on in flight across the empery of his mind.

--Jack London, "Martin Eden"