The ordinary aesthetic anarchist who sets out to feel everything freely gets knotted at last in a paradox that prevents him feeling at all.

He breaks away from home limits to follow poetry.
But in ceasing to feel home limits he has ceased to feel the "Odyssey." He is free from national prejudices and outside patriotism.

But being outside patriotism he is outside "Henry V." Such a literary man is simply outside all literature: he is more of a prisoner than any bigot.
For if there is a wall between you and the world, it makes little difference whether you describe yourself as locked in or as locked out.
What we want is not the universality that is outside all normal sentiments; we want the universality that is inside all normal sentiments.

It is all the difference between being free from them, as a man is free from a prison, and being free of them as a man is free of a city.

I am free from Windsor Castle (that is, I am not forcibly detained there), but I am by no means free of that building.