Arthur Machen 
The House of Souls 

‚Sorcery and sanctity, ‚ said Ambrose, ‚these are the only realities. Each is an ecstasy, a withdrawal from the common life.‘ Cotgrave listened, interested. He had been brought by a friend to this mouldering house in a northern suburb, through an old garden to the room where Ambrose the recluse dozed and dreamed over his books. ‚Yes, ‚ he went on, ‚magic is justified of her children. There are many, I think, who eat dry crusts and drink water, with a joy infinitely sharper than anything within the experience of the ‚practical‘ epicure.‘ ‚You are speaking of the saints?‘ ‚Yes, and of the sinners, too. I think you are falling into the very general error of confining the spiritual world to the supremely good; but the supremely wicked, necessarily, have their portion in it. The merely carnal, sensual man can no more be a great sinner than he can be a great saint. Most of us are just indifferent, mixed-up creatures; we muddle through the world without realizing the meaning and the inner sense of things, and, consequently, our wickedness and our goodness are alike second-rate, unimportant.‘