Algernon Blackwood,
The Centaur — Chapter XXX
(1911)
“ Yet, as I listened to his voice that mingled with the rustle of the poplars overhead, and watched his eager face and gestures, it came to me dimly that a man's mistakes may be due to his attempting bigger things than his little critic ever dreamed perhaps. And gradually I shared the vision that this unrhyming poet by my side had somehow lived out in action.Inner experience for him was ever the reality--not the mere forms or deeds that clothe it in partial physical expression. ”
