Something about the human soul demands beauty and refuses to accept anything less. You may disagree with me, say you don't have a keen eye for beauty, say it is a luxury when it is, in fact, a necessity. We see evidence of this necessity when we observe functional objects. The purpose of a blanket is the same regardless of its patterns, colors, or design. Yet even in great poverty, men and women go to great lengths to preserve beauty, even if it is in something as simple as a quilt. A teacup still holds tea whether it is elegantly designed or blandly forgotten. We write in journals according to our taste but whether the cover is lovely or missing altogether is not the same need fulfilled? Not only do we feel the need to partake of beautiful things but to create them, to fill the world with that which is lovely and noteworthy. No purpose but personal satisfaction and cultural edification is met by beauty's existence. There is nothing practical about beauty, yet this is why it is defined as such. It is not practical nor functional yet it is universally understood, recognized, and admired. We even make sacrifices for the cause of beauty. After my grandfather died my grandma had her sights set on a beautiful blue couch she had been wanting for the living room but hadn't the money to buy due to her husband's recent death. For one month my grandma ate nothing but eggs, beans, and milk from her storage until she had enough money saved to buy the couch. Today that couch sits contently in my room, a constant reminder of the human inclination towards that which is lovely. I know very well that the beautiful things are worth the sacrifice, each and every time.