“Yes,” he said.
“You must concentrate,” I went on; “you must get out of life only what you need and want.”
Florence said she couldn’t concentrate in her studies, except when she loved them. Naturally, I answered, it was strong love that made us concentrate.
Virginia said: “I used to study, only instead of studying I looked out of the window.”
“But now, at your art,” I answered, “you work with concentration, because you love it.”
Henry remarked that perhaps, when she was looking out of the window, she studied the landscapes.
At this point Marian, hearing voices in the next room, whispered to Ruth whether she knew who was there.
“Strange,” I said. “Until you spoke of it, I did not notice any voices. Do you love this club? Well, I do, too; and when I am here, no matter what happened before, or will happen afterward, or may be happening now, I think of nothing but what we are doing, I forget everything else. Do you remember the difference between the painting and the photograph? The photographic plate takes every detail, unimportant and meaningless; the picture contains only that which makes it complete and beautiful. Let your life be a picture, not a photograph. Do not let your life be a sensitive plate that cannot defend itself against any impression. Let it be an artist’s work, chosen, complete, beautiful. Leave out what does not concern you.
“Now, what is it,” I asked, “which all of us do love best, and which includes all our lesser loves?”
Henry answered: “You mean complete sympathy and understanding.”