Fiction is Truth’s elder sister. Obviously. No one in the world knew what truth was till someone had told a story.
Asia is not going to be civilised after the methods of the West. There is too much Asia and she is too old.
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, “It’s pretty, but is it Art?”
And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; and no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame, but each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, shall draw the thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!