no belief to themselves that
something extraordinary, incomprehensible, lay buried within them; they
held, on the contrary, that whatever was best in their virtue was that
which it needed no effort for all men to grasp and admit. But there are
some morbid virtues that are passed by unnoticed, and not without
reason--for there will almost always be some superior reason for the
powerlessness of a feeling--morbid virtues to which we often ascribe
far too great an importance; and that virtue will surely be morbid that
we rate over highly and hold to deserve the respectful attention of
others. In a morbid virtue there is often more harm than there is in a
healthy vice; in any event it is farther removed from truth; and there
is but little to hope for when we are divided from truth. As our ideal
becomes loftier so does it become more real; and the nobler our soul,
the less does it dread that it meet not a soul of its stature; for it
must have drawn near unto truth, in whose neighbourhood all things must
take of its greatness. When Dante had gained the third sphere, and
stood in the midst of the heavenly lights, all shining with uniform
splendour, he saw that around him naught moved, and wondered was he
standing motionless there, or indeed drawing nearer unto the seat of
God? So he cast his eyes upon Beatrice; and she seemed more beautiful
to him; wherefore he knew that he was approaching his goal. And so can
we too count the steps that we take on the highway of truth, by the
increase of love that comes for all that goes with us in life; the
increase of love and of glad curiosity, of respect and of deep
admiration.

106. Men, as a rule, sally forth from their homes seeking beauty and
joy, truth and love; and are glad to be able to say to their children,
on their return, that they have met nothing. To be for ever complaining
argues much pride; and those who accuse love and life are the ones who
imagine that these should bestow something more than they can acquire
for themselves. Love, it is true, like all else, claims the highest
possible ideal; but every ideal that conforms not with some strenuous
inward, reality is nothing but falsehood--sterile and futile,
obsequious falsehood. Two or three ideals, that lie out of our reach,
will suffice to paralyse life. It is wrong to believe that loftiness of
soul is governed by the loftiness of desire or dream. The dreams of the
weak will be often more numerous, lovelier, than are those