He shook his head. “It wouldn’t seem like
anything!”
“Now wait,” she said. “It seems like
something, doesn’t it? when they scare poor Falstaff in the woods? When Madame
Butterfly kills herself? When the stone man, the man of white marble, comes
clomping into Don Giovanni’s dining room, bump bump bump? That’s what art is
for, isn’t it? to take something measly—measly in comparison with the
universe—and make it count for something?”--From Variation West