From the diary of A. C. Benson, September 8, 1904:
“A verger took a party round [York Minster], and talked so pleasantly and gently; I did not listen to much he said, but just crept about in the holy gloom, and felt the awe of the huge solemn place, so filled with tradition and splendour, creep into my mind. That feeling is worth ten thousand cicerones telling you what everything is. I don’t want to know; indeed, I want not to know; it is enough that I am deeply moved. A foolish antiquarian was with the party, asking silly questions and contradicting everything. Such a goose, and so proud of being learned! The wealth and air of use pleased me. Yet the spirit which built it is all gone, I think. Religion—by which I mean services and dogmas—what is it? I sometimes think it is like tobacco, chewed by hungry men to stay the famished stomach. And perhaps the real food for which we starve is death.”
