The difference is as great between The optics seeing as the objects seen. All manners take a tincture from our own; Or come discolor'd through our passions shown; Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.
Alexander Pope, Moral Essays (1731-35), Epistle 1, line 31.
Pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed; and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies.
We figure to ourselves The thing we like, and then we build it up As chance will have it, on the rock or sand: For Thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.
Sir Henry Taylor, Philip Van Artevelde, Part I, Act I, scene 5.
Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.