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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
59
I
think
sometimes,
how
good
it
were
had
I
some
one
by
me
to
listen
when
I
am
tempted
to
read
a
passage
aloud.
Yes,
but
is
there
any
mortal
in
the
whole
world
upon
whom
I
could
invariably
depend
for
sympathetic
understanding?--nay,
who
would
even
generally
be
at
one
with
me
in
my
appreciation.
Such
harmony
of
intelligences
is
the
rarest
thing.
All
through
life
we
long
for
it:
the
desire
drives
us,
like
a
demon,
into
waste
places;
too
often
ends
by
plunging
us
into
mud
and
morass.
And,
after
all,
we
learn
that
the
vision
was
illusory.
To
every
man
is
it
decreed:
thou
shalt
live
alone.
Happy
they
who
imagine
that
they
have
escaped
the
common
lot;
happy,
whilst
they
imagine
it.
Those
to
whom
no
such
happiness
has
ever
been
granted
at
least
avoid
the
bitterest
of
disillusions.
And
is
it
not
always
good
to
face
a
truth,
however
discomfortable?
The
mind
which
renounces,
once
and
for
ever,
a
futile
hope,
has
its
compensation
in
ever-growing
calm.
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