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" . . . Yes, I’m an aesthete. I like beauty.
Yes – poor countries are beautiful. Poor people are beautiful. It’s a wonderful feeling to have money in a country where most people are poor, to ride in a taxi through horrible slums.
Yes – a beggar can be beautiful. A beggar can have beautiful lips, beautiful eyes. You’re far from home. To you, her simple shawl seems elegant, direct, the right way to dress. You see her approaching from a great distance. She’s old, thin, and yes, she looks sick, very sick, near death. But her face is beautiful – seductive, luminous. You like her – you’re drawn to her. Yes, you think – there’s money in your purse – you’ll give her some of it.
And a voice says – Why not all of it? Why not give her all you have?
Be careful, that’s a question that could poison your life. Your love of beauty could actually kill you.
If you hear that question, it means you’re sick. You’re mentally sick. You’ve had a breakdown. "
― Wallace Shawn , The Fever
