From
this I reach what I might call a philosophy; at any rate it is a constant idea
of mine; that behind the cotton wool is hidden a pattern; that we--I mean all
human beings--are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art;
that we are parts of the work of art. Hamlet or a Beethoven
quartet is the truth about this vast mass that we call the world. But there is
no Shakespeare, there is no Beethoven ; certainly and emphatically there is no
God; we are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself.
“A Sketch of the Past” (MOB 72)
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