* Daniel Deronda
Men can dp nothing without the make-believe of a beginning.
Even Science, the strict measurer, is obliged to start with a make-believe
unit, and must fix on a point in the stars' unceasing journey
when his sidereal clock shall pretend that time is a Nought.
His less accurate grandmother Poetry has always been understood
to start in the middle; but on relfection it appears that her proceeding
is not very different from his; since Science, too, rech2kons
backwards as well as forwards, divides his unit into billions, and
with his clock-finger at Nought really sets of �in� �medias� �res�.
No retrospect will take us to the true beginning; and whether
our prologue be in heaven or on earth, it is but a fraction of
that all-presupposing fact with which our story sets out.
Was she beautiful or not beautiful? and what was the
secret of form or ezpression which gave the dynamic
quality to her glance? Was the good or the evil genius
dominant in those beams? P . . .