indeed? Farewell my hope then!--I had thought that civilisation
meant the attainment of peace and order and freedom, of goodwill
between man and man, of the love of truth and the hatred of
injustice, and by consequence the attainment of the good life which
these things breed, a life free from craven fear, but full of
incident: that was what I thought it meant, not more stuffed chairs
and more cushions, and more carpets and gas, and more dainty meat
and drink--and therewithal more and sharper differences between
class and class.

If that be what it is, I for my part wish I were well out of it, and
living in a tent in the Persian desert, or a turf hut on the Iceland
hill-side. But however it be, and I think my view is the true view,
I tell you that art abhors that side of civilisation, she cannot
breathe in the houses that lie under its stuffy slavery.

Believe me, if we want art to begin at home, as it must, we must
clear our houses of troublesome superfluities that are for ever in
our way: conventional comforts that are no real comforts, and do
but make work for servants and doctors: if you want a golden rule
that will fit everybody, this is it:

'HAVE NOTHING IN YOUR HOUSES THAT YOU DO NOT KNOW TO BE USEFUL OR
BELIEVE TO BE BEAUTIFUL.'

And if we apply that rule strictly, we shall in the first place show
the builders and such-like servants of the public what we really
want, we shall create a demand for real art, as the phrase goes; and
in the second place, we shall surely have more money to pay for
decent houses.