'On the whole we are
Not intelligent—
No, no, no, not intelligent.'—W.S. GILBERT.
'Truth may perhaps come to the price of a Pearle, that sheweth best by day; But it will not rise to the price of a Diamond or Carbuncle, that sheweth best in varied lights. A mixture of a Lie doth ever adde Pleasure. Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men's mindes Vaine Opinions, Blattering Hopes, False Valuations, Imaginations as one would, and the like, but it would leave the Mindes of a Number of Men poore shrunken Things, full of Melancholy and Indisposition and unpleasing to themselves?'—FRANCIS BACON.
'What is it that smears the windows of the senses? Thought, convention, self-interest…. We see the narrow world our windows show us not in itself, but in relation to our own needs, moods, and preferences … for the universe of the natural man is strictly egocentric…. Unless we happen to be artists—and then but rarely—we never know the "thing seen" in its purity; never from birth to death, look at it with disinterested eyes…. It is disinterestedness, the saint's and poet's love of things for their own sakes … which is the condition of all real knowledge…. When … the verb "to have" is ejected from the centre of your consciousness … your attitude to life will cease to be commercial and become artistic. Then the guardian at the gate, scrutinising and sorting the incoming impressions, will no longer ask, "What use is this to me?"… You see things at last as the artist does, for their sake, not for your own.'—EVELYN UNDERHILL.