it.

Man is imperfect; yet, in his literature, he must express himself
and his own views and preferences; for to do anything else is to do
a far more perilous thing than to risk being immoral: it is to be
sure of being untrue. To ape a sentiment, even a good one, is to
travesty a sentiment; that will not be helpful. To conceal a
sentiment, if you are sure you hold it, is to take a liberty with
truth. There is probably no point of view possible to a sane man
but contains some truth and, in the true connection, might be
profitable to the race. I am not afraid of the truth, if any one
could tell it me, but I am afraid of parts of it impertinently
uttered. There is a time to dance and a time to mourn; to be harsh
as well as to be sentimental; to be ascetic as well as to glorify
the appetites; and if a man were to combine all these extremes into
his work, each in its place and proportion, that work would be the
world's masterpiece of morality as well as of art. Partiality is
immorality; for any book is wrong that gives a misleading picture
of the world and life. The trouble is that the weakling must be
partial; the work of one proving dank and depressing; of another,
cheap and vulgar; of a third, epileptically sensual; of a fourth,
sourly ascetic. In literature as in conduct, you can never hope to
do exactly right. All you can do is to make as sure as possible;
and for that there is but one rule. Nothing should be done in a
hurry that can be done slowly. It is no use to write a book and
put it by for nine or even ninety years; for in the writing you
will have partly convinced yourself; the delay must precede any
beginning; and if you meditate a work of art, you should first long
roll the subject under the tongue to make sure you like the
flavour, before you brew a volume that shall taste of it from end