To see the butcher slap the steak, before he laid it on the block,
and give his knife a sharpening, was to forget breakfast instantly. It was
agreeable, too -- it really was -- to see him cut it off, so smooth and juicy.
There was nothing savage in the act, although the knife was large and keen;
it was a piece of art, high art; there was delicacy of touch, clearness of
tone, skilful handling of the subject, fine shading. It was the triumph of
mind over matter; quite.
-- Dickens, "Martin Chuzzlewit"