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 another word nor refer to the matter again (1848). It may be said that sorrow was his best friend, and gave him an austere delight. "Art is not a diversion," he wrote once. "It is a conflict, a complication of wheels in which one is crushed. I am not a philosopher. I do not wish to do away with pain, nor to find a formula that will make me stoical and indifferent. Pain is perhaps the thing that gives artists the strongest power of expression" (1847). And in truth he is attracted, fascinated by the expression of pain. It is this that he looks for in the work of his favourite masters; it seems to exercise a mystic spell upon him. "There were moments when I felt as though I were pierced by the arrows of a Saint Sebastian