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"
Mr. Keith paused, but it was only to take breath.
"Did he?" enquired Denis. "The sense of proportion--"
"The tail of a cow was just as important to him as the tail of a comet;
more important, if it could be turned into a joke. Look at the back of
his mind and you will always see the same thing: horror of a fact. That
is what lies before you, Denis, if, in a world of facts, you refuse to
assimilate them. They will disagree with you, as they disagreed with
Butler. They will drive you where they drove him--into abstractions.
Others went the same way. The painter Watts, for instance. He also
suffered under the reign of giants. He also took refuge in
abstractions. Faith leading Hope towards Despair. Why don't you write a
book about these things, Denis?"
"I am going to be an artist."
"An Artist? That is better than a poet. Verse-making is a little out of
date, is it not? It corresponds to juvenile stages of human
development. Poets are a case of genepistasis. If they would at least
get a new stock of ideas! Their demonology is so hopelessly threadbare.


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