What interests me in things is not their beauty, their harmony—I couldn't care less about that. It's that they are. Because one day something clicked, a veil of some sort was torn, and I was granted a compelling perception of their existence, with the discovery that simply by being, a thing—any thing—possesses a value in which Beauty, Harmony, simply don't figure. A value so unparalleled, producing by simple contact a happiness so lofty, so beyond all expectation, that beside it the very Parthenon is a trinket.
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