"Beauty is an unstable force. It gathers mysteriously even out of its absence, beginning as a transparent sheen, little more than a certain perception of moisture. Out of ugliness even. Like a mold it grows, then like a moss; suddenly it's covered in little petals. It coheres, burgeons, builds, drifts. Shapes form and pile, almost tumble, look as if to tumble, hold, tumble more; the mechanism is crystalline. It loves itself, beauty. It consists...