Walter Pater, as we have already discovered, was enormously influential to the aesthetic development of James Joyce, as well as Oscar Wilde and others who can be said to fall within the realm of aestheticism, or what is more commonly known as 'art for art's sake.'

Another one of his disciples was Virgina Woolf, another dedicated aesthetic. She recalls in her piece Old Bloomsbury(later anthlogized with others in a collection called Moments of Being, in itself a Pater-sounding title), coming back from parties she had to attend very early in the morning(she recalls this as a very confusing, unhappy time of her young adulthood): "It was long past midnight that I got into bed and sat reading a page or two of Marius the Epicvrean for which I had then a passion."(Moments of Being, pg 160) This was a novel of Pater's. In another interesting connection between them, Virgina was tutored in Classical literature by Clare Pater, Walter Pater's sister(small world I guess).

Here' the concluding sentances from Pater's The Renaissance:
" Great passions may give us a quickened sense of life, ecstasy and sorrow of love, the various forms of enthusiastic activity, disinterested or otherwise, which comes naturally to many of us. Only be sure it is passion--that it does not yield you this fruit of a quickened, mulitplied consciousness. Of such wisdom, the poetic passion, the desire of beauty, the love of art for its own sake, has most. For art comes to you proposing frankly to give nothing but the highest quality to your moments as they pass, and simply for those moments' sake."

Maybe I am seeing a connection in to vague a spot(but I don't think so), but I was reminded of the epiphany(one of many really) that occurs for Mrs. Ramsey in To the Lighthouse:
" She listened, but it was very still; cricket was over; the children were in their baths;there was only the sound of the sea. She stopped knitting; she held the long-reddish brown stocking dangling in her hands a moment. She saw the light again. With some irony in her interrogation, for when one woke at all, one's relations changed, she looked at the steady light, the pitiless, the remorseless, which was so much her, yet so little her, which had her at its beck and call(she woke in the night and saw it bent across their bed, stroking the floor), but for all that she thought, watching it with fascination, hypnotised, as if it were stroking with its silver fingers some sealed vessel in her brain who's bursting would flood her with delight, she had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness, and it silvered the rough waves a little more brightly, as daylight faded, and the blue went out of the sea and it rolled in waves of pure lemon which curved and swelled and broke upon the beach and the ecstasy burst in her eyes and waves of pure delight raced over the floor of her mind and she felt, It is enough! It is enough!"(pgs 64-65)

This all transpires in one brief moment, but the landscapes(of the bedroom, and of the ocean, one in the plane of vision before her, the other in her mind) are illumintated by light, the light from the lighthouse and also the light that comes with recognition, with epiphany. And the moment, just on its own and of its own, is enough. The moment with the highest quality, much like Pater suggested, but different all the same.