We know from many experiences that this is what the work of art does: its life in which we have shared the alien existences both of this world and of that different world to which the work of art alone gives us access unwillingly accuses our lives.
A long train of these practices has at length unwillingly convinced me that there is something behind the throne greater than the King himself.
When at last the gods triumph once more over evil, the tension breaks, the music stops, and slowly the drum beats cease. Almost unwillingly one wakes up from the reverie, tired and exhauseted, but triumphant as one who has danced with gods.
I approach these questions unwillingly, as it wounds, but no cure can be effected without touching upon and handling them.
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