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Bad art is never really enjoyed in the same sense in which good art is enjoyed. It is only "liked": it never startles, prostrates, and takes captive.

C. S. Lewis (2002). “On Stories: And Other Essays on Literature”, p.144, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Bad art is never really enjoyed in the same sense in which good art is enjoyed. It is only liked: it never startles, prostrates, and takes captive.