It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. When critics disagree,the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.
Leaving a desolate desert behind. She struck a happy tear away And broke the crimson seal. Unless I wed whom I abhor, My cousin, Blanche of Valencay. Meet me in hell to-night, my queen, For weal and woe. She laughed although her face was wan, She girded on her golden belt, She took her jewelled ivory fan, And at her glowing missal knelt.