It often happens that the real tragedies of our life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style. They affect us just like vulgarity affects us. They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that.
Sometimes, however, a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of beauty crosses our lives. If the elements of the beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to ourt sense of dramatic effect. Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the play. Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us.
Osar Wilde, The Picture Of Dorian Gray