THIS YOUTHFUL PEAK OF GRIEF,
the young man finds in after years, is but the more substantial bottom
of two slopes which rise sublimely toward the zenith of his life. He
banishes his false conceptions of the grandeur of the human mind. He
banishes an attachment which had not a substantial girder under it, and
within a few years his heart is all the broader, gentler and more
charitable for his young sorrow. Do not think me underrating the
poignancy of ill-requited love. It is no mean sorrow. But no great mind
ever was crushed under it. No great mind ever was crushed under any
sorrow dealt out to humanity.
TRUE GREATNESS,
after all, lies in true humanity, true understanding of the feebleness
of our nature and our capacities. We do not overload an animal, merely
because it evinces a willingness to make an effort. We therefore must
not overweight our soul with sorrow. We must not nurse our woe. We must
not have that grand, conceited idea of our nobility which demands of us
a great long future of melancholy; but rather must we nurse our bodies,
suspecting our liver if our soul be heavy, and blaming our chamber if
our brow be clouded.
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