Excerpt from Remembrance of Things Past by Marcel Proust

"…a porcelain bowl with water and steeping in it little pieces of paper which until then are without character or form… the moment they become wet, stretch and twist and take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or people, solid and recognizable… so in that moment all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann’s park… and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings… and the whole of Combray and its surroundings… taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, towns and gardens alike... from my cup of tea.”