7.  “Just in proportion as the writer’s aim, consciously or unconsciously, comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a fine art, and good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense.  Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that.  And further, all beauty is in the long run only fineness of truth, or what we call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within.”

* * * * *

8.  “For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit, and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer.  These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and for the love of beauty.  These three are equal.  Each of these three has the power of the others latent in him, and his own patent.”

CHAPTER III.

MORALITY.

MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF Purpose, Love, Harmony, Poise, Values.

1.  “My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visibly waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, ‘In Heaven’s name, No!’”

* * * * *

2.  “Flower in the crannied wall,
      I pluck you out of the crannies;—­
    Hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
      Little flower—­but if I could understand
    What you are, root and all, and all in all,
      I should know what God and man is.”

* * * * *

3.  “Who but the locksmith could have made such music?  A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his sunny heart.”

* * * * *

4. “Portia You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
    Such as I am; though for myself alone,
    I would not be ambitious in my wish,
    To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
    I would be trebled twenty times myself;
    A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;”

* * * * *

5.  “Listen to the water-mill;
    Through the livelong day,
    How the clicking of its wheels
    Wears the hours away! 
    Languidly the autumn wind
    Stirs the forest leaves,
    From the fields the reapers sing,
    Binding up their sheaves;
    And a proverb haunts my mind,
    As a spell is cast;
    ’The mill can never grind
    With the water that is past.’”