Whenever I saw a real work of art or read real literature, all this was brutally shoved aside, for there was another dimension to being human, something quite different, of a different quality, dignity, and significance, it was what had inspired medieval man to build such enormous cathedrals against whose magnificence they became what they actually were: lowly, insignificant, and inconsiderable beings. Tiny little farts of life, one could say. Yet they had built them! They were creators of astonishing, otherworldly beauty, but they were farts too.
