Ther once was an inventor whose work it was to invent new danced. His aim was to invent the perfect dance, which of course is an impossiblity. At the end of each day, enraged, he would fling his day’s work out onto the street in disgust. The peasants of the town woyld seixe upon these imperfect dances and dance them with great joy and gusto. The invento worked on in earnest deication. Alone. The peasants danced their lives away. Together. And so life goes on.

Leunig, how much do I quote but oh how good is he.