The whole sky is one ocean of alternate waves of cloud and light, so blended together that the eye cannot rest on any one without being guided to the next, and so to a hundred more, till it is lost over again in every wreath - that if it divides the sky into quarters of inches and tries to count and comprehend the component parts of any single one of those divisions, it is still as utterly defied and defeated by the parts as by the whole - that there is not one line out of the millions there which repeats another, not one which is unconnected with the another, not one which does not in itself convey histories of distance and space, and suggest new and changeful form.
John Ruskin
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