There is a very famous "Pebble Beach" at Pescadero, on the California coast. The lone line of white surf comes up with it's everlasting roar, and rattles and thunders among the stones on the shore. They are caught in the arms of the pitiless waves, and tossed and rolled, and rubbed together, and ground against the sharp-grained cliffs. Day and night forever the ceaseless attrition goes on-never any rest. And the result?
from all over the world flock thither to gather the round and beautiful
stones. They are laid up in cabinets; they ornament the parlor mantels.
But go yonder, around the point of the cliff that breaks off the face
of sea, you shall find abundance of pebbles that have never been chosen
by the traveler.
Why are these left all the years through
unsought? For the simple reason that they have escaped all the turmoil
and attrition of the waves, and the quiet and peace have left them as
they found them, rough and angular and devoid of beauty. Polish comes
~Streams in the Desert