Read it through once

"The artist, as a rule, hates the critic," rejoined Ernest, shrugging his shoulders. "He considers him to be a parasite upon his work,—a man who lives upon the soul of another. He sees him, and naturally dislikes him. Yet I do not think that the artist is justified in his hatred. The critic is as necessary to him as the oar to the boat. Without criticism the artist drifts; he thinks himself a god; he becomes dangerous. The critic alone keeps him honest with himself. He is the conscience of art."