In the paroxysms of intoxication the artistic power of all nature reveals itself to the highest gratification of the primordial unity

The noblest clay, the most costly marble, man, is here kneaded and cut, and to the sound of the chisel strokes of the Dionysian world-artist rings out the cry of the Eleusinian mysteries: “Do you prostrate yourselves millions? Do you sense your Maker, world?’

That's it. Done it