"This characteristic, too," answered Einstein, "cannot be claimed as the exclusive property of works of art. Its existence cannot be doubted, inasmuch as it belongs to every eminent example of art. Yet we encounter it outside the realm of art, too, in great advances of science, with which we never cease occupying ourselves, and yet the impression continues unweakened." "Do you include among them the impressions that a discoverer experiences when he reviews in his mind the progress due to his own efforts?" "Naturally, and these, indeed, quite particularly; and if this question were put to me directly, I should answer unhesitatingly that I find pleasure in reflecting on my own discoveries, and never experience feelings of weariness in passing over them again. So that, to return to our original thesis, we must adopt a new basis of value if we wish to account for the fact that the greatest degree of happiness is to be expected of a work of art. It is the moral impression, the feeling of elevation, that takes hold of me when the work of art is presented. And I was thinking of these ethical factors when I gave preference to Dostojewskis works. There is no need for me to carry out a literary analysis, nor to enter on a search for psychological subtleties, for all investigations of this kind fail to penetrate to the heart of a work such as "The Karamasoffs." This can be grasped only by means of the feelings, that find satisfaction in passing through trying and difficult circumstances, and that become intensified to exultation when the author offers the reader ethical satisfaction. Yes, that is the right expression, 'ethical satisfaction'! I can find no other words for it." His whole face lit up, and I was deeply touched by his expression. At that moment it seemed to me that he had drawn the last veil from his soul to allow me to share in his ecstasy. Was that the same physicist who interprets the events of the world in terms of mathematics, and whose equations encompass phenomena from electrons to universes? If so, it was a different soul; one which gave utterance, like that of Faust, to the words: "And when in the feeling wholly blest thou art, Call it then what thou wilt. Call it Bliss! Heart! Love! God! I have no name for it! Feeling is all in all! Name is but sound and reek, A mist round the glow of heaven!"