From this I am personally saved by the fact that the sense of
beauty is, as I have said, so whimsical in its movements. I should
never think of setting out deliberately to capture these
sensations, because it would be so futile a task. No kind of
occupation, however prosaic, however absorbing, seems to be either
favourable to this perception, or the reverse. It is not even like
bodily health, which has its variations, but is on the whole likely
to result from a certain defined regime of diet, exercise, and
habits; and what would still more preserve me from making a
deliberate attempt to capture it would be that it comes perhaps
most poignantly and insistently of all when I am uneasy,
overstrained, and melancholy. No! the only thing to do is to live
one's life without reference to it, to be thankful when it comes,
and to be contented when it is withdrawn.

I sometimes think that a great deal of stuff is both written and
talked about the beauties of nature. By this I do not mean for a
moment that nature is less beautiful than is supposed, but that
many of the rapturous expressions one hears and sees used about the
enjoyment of nature are very insincere; though it is equally true
on the other hand that a great deal of genuine admiration of
natural beauty is not expressed, perhaps hardly consciously felt.
To have a true and deep appreciation of nature demands a certain
poetical force, which is rare; and a great many people who have a
considerable power of expression, but little originality, feel
bound to expend a portion of this upon expressing an admiration for
nature which they do not so much actually feel as think themselves
bound to feel, because they believe that people in general expect
it of them.