How we cite our quotes: Citations follow this format: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #7
Appearing thus late in the story, Cecil must be at once described. He was medieval. Like a Gothic statue. Tall and refined, with shoulders that seemed braced square by an effort of the will, and a head that was tilted a little higher than the usual level of vision, he resembled those fastidious saints who guard the portals of a French cathedral. Well educated, well endowed, and not deficient physically, he remained in the grip of a certain devil whom the modern world knows as self-consciousness, and whom the medieval, with dimmer vision, worshipped as asceticism. A Gothic statue implies celibacy, just as a Greek statue implies fruition […] (8.15).
Cecil is the captain of the “medieval” team in the novel, representing the stuffy old order of super-British high society, and his appearance makes his allegiance obvious. This comparison directly lines up with the images we have of George as a Greek god or a neo-classical Michelangelo figure.
Quote #8
But to Cecil, now that he was about to lose her, she seemed each moment more desirable. He looked at her, instead of through her, for the first time since they were engaged. From a Leonardo she had become a living woman, with mysteries and forces of her own, with qualities that even eluded art. His brain recovered from the shock, and, in a burst of genuine devotion, he cried: "But I love you, and I did think you loved me!" (17.6).
Too late, Cecil realizes that Lucy is, in fact, not a work of art. Shocking!
Quote #9
“You despise my mother—I know you do—because she's conventional and bothers over puddings; but, oh goodness!"—she rose to her feet—"conventional, Cecil, you're that, for you may understand beautiful things, but you don't know how to use them; and you wrap yourself up in art and books and music, and would try to wrap up me. I won't be stifled, not by the most glorious music, for people are more glorious, and you hide them from me. That's why I break off my engagement. You were all right as long as you kept to things, but when you came to people—" She stopped (17.8).
Here, Lucy finally calls Cecil out on his obnoxious and profoundly antisocial habit of thinking of everything – people, relationships, basically the entire human world – in terms of stuffy art history. By treating everyone and everything around him as objects (whether as works of art or worthless junk), he fails to understand the deeper, incredibly human feelings that Lucy possesses.