whitehearts tinkling in my ears,arboreal fish whispers
"Do you really care for that sort of unbridled arrogance? I don't know what one could say for him, unless it's that he's terribly good-looking, if that matters."
"Good-looking? Are you being funny, Dominique?"
Kiki Holocombe saw Dominique being stupidly puzzled for once. And Dominique realize that what she saw in his face, what made it the face of a god to her, was not seen by others; that it could leave them indifferent; that what she had thought to be the most obvious, inconsequential remark was, instead a confession of something within her, some quality not shared by others."
"Why, my dear," said Kiki, "he's not good-looking at all but extremely masculine."
"Don't let it astonish you, Dominique," said a voice behind her. "Kiki's esthetic judgment is not yours- nor mine."
Dominique turned. Ellsworth Toohey stood there, smiling, watching her face attentively.
"You..." she began and stopped.
" Of course," said Toohey, bowing daintily in understanding affirmative of what she had not said. "Do give me credit for discernment, Dominique, somewhat equal to yours. Though not for esthetic enjoyment. I'll leave that part of it to you. But we do see things, at time, which ate not obvious, don't we- you and I?"
"What things?"
"My, dear, what a long philosophical discussion that would take, and how involved, and how- unnecessary. I’ve always told you that we should be good friends. We have so much in common intellectually. We start from opposite poles, but that makes no difference, because you see, we meet in the same point. It was a very interesting evening, Dominique."
"What are you driving at?"
"For instance, it was interesting to discover what sort of thing appears good-looking to you. It's nice to have you classified firmly, concretely. Without words- just the aid of a certain face."
"If...if you can see what you're talking about, you can't be what you are."
"No, my dear. I must be what I am, precisely because of what I see."
"You know, Ellsworth, I think you're much worse than I thought you were."
"And perhaps much worse than you're thinking now. But useful. We're all useful to one another. As you will be to me. As, I think, you will want to be."
"What are you talking about?"
"That's bad, Dominique. Very bad. So pointless. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I couldn't possibly explain it. If you do- I have you, already, without saying anything further."
"What kind of a conversation is this?" asked Kiki, bewildered.
"Just our way of kidding each other, " said Toohey brightly. "Don’t let it bother you, Kiki. Dominique and I are always kidding each other. Not very well, though, because you see- we can't."
"Some day, Ellsworth," said Dominique, "you'll make a mistake."
"Quite possible. And you, my dear, have made yours already."
"Goodnight, Ellsworth."
"Goodnight, Dominique."
Kiki turned to him when Dominique had gone.
"What's the matter with both of you, Ellsworth? Why such talk- over nothing at all? People's faces and first impressions don't mean a thing."
"That, my dear Kiki," he answered, his voice soft and distant as if he were giving an answer, not to her, but to a thought of his own, "is one of your greatest common fallacies. There's nothing as significant as a human face. Nor as eloquent. We can never really know another person, except by our first glance at him. Because, in that glance, we know everything. Even though we're not always wise enough to unravel the knowledge. Have you ever thought about the style of a soul, Kiki?"
"The..what?"
"The style of a soul. Do you remember the famous philosopher who spoke of the style of a civilization? He called it 'style.' He said it was the nearest word he could find for it. He said that every civilization has its one classic principle, one single, supreme, determining conception, and every endeavor of men within that civilzation is true, unconsciously and irrevocably, to that one principle...I think, Kiki, that every human soul has a style of its own, also. Its one baseic theme. You'll see it releceted in every t hought, every act, every wish of that person. The once absolute and one imperative in that living creature. Years of studying a man won't show it to you. His face will. you'd have to write volumes to sedcribe a person. Think of his face. You need nothing else."
-exceprt from The Fountainhead, Amy Rand