"The man's true life, for which he consents to live," wrote Robert Louis Stevenson, "lies altogether in the field of fancy. The clergyman, in his spare hours, may be winning battles, the farmer sailing ships, the banker reaping triumph in the arts: all leading another life, plying another trade from what they chose....For no man lives in the external truth, among salts and acids, but in the warm, phantasmagoric chamber of his brain, with the painted windows and storied walls." Snoopy, dining by candlelight on the top of his doghouse, with his stained-glass window and Van Gogh below, would agree."