Generally speaking, I neither understand old books very well, nor do I
care for them--I have been able to read only Shakespeare, and perhaps
one or two others, with the interest with which I approach modern
writers.

It has sometimes seemed to me that the unreadableness of the older
authors might be made the foundation of a philosophic system. Yet I
have met with some surprises.

One was that I enjoyed the _Odyssey_.

"Am I a hypocrite?" I asked myself.

I do not find old painters to be as incompatible as old authors. On the
contrary, my experience has been that they are the reverse. I greatly
prefer a canvas by Botticelli, Mantegna, El Greco or Velazquez to a
modern picture.

The only famous painter of the past for whom I have entertained an
antipathy, is Raphael; yet, when I was in Rome and saw the frescos in
the Vatican, I was obliged again to ask myself if my attitude was a
pose, because they struck me frankly as admirable.

I do not pretend to taste, but I am sincere; nor do I endeavour to be
consistent. Consistency does not interest me.

The only consistency possible is a consistency which comes from without,
which proceeds from fear of public opinion, and anything of this sort
appears to me to be contemptible.