throw its light around. Let only one ray of this light go forth
every day from our soul, we may then be content. It matters not
where the light falls. There is not a thing in this world whereupon
your glance or your thought can rest but contains within it more
treasure than either of these can fathom; nor is there a thing so
small but it has a vastness within that the light that a soul can
spare can, at best, but faintly illumine.

86. Is not the very essence of human destiny, stripped of the
details that bewilder us, to be found in the most ordinary lives?
The mighty struggle of morality on the heights is glorious to
witness; but so will a keen observer profoundly admire a magnificent
tree that stands alone in a desert, and, his contemplation over,
once more go back to the forest, where there are no marvellous
trees, but trees in countless abundance. The immense forest is
doubtless made up of ordinary branches and stems; but is it not
vast, is it not as it should be, seeing that it is the forest? Not
by the exceptional shall the last word ever be spoken; and indeed
what we call the sublime should be only a clearer, profounder
insight into all that is perfectly normal. It is of service, often,
to watch those on the peaks who do battle; but it is well, too, not
to forget those in the valley below, who fight not at all. As we see
all that happens to these whose life knows no struggle; as we
realise how much must be conquered in us before we can rightly
distinguish their narrower joys from the joy known to them who are
striving on high, then perhaps does the struggle itself appear to
become less important; but, for all that, we love it the more. And
the reward is the sweeter to us for the silence that enwraps its
coming; nor is this from a desire to keep our happiness secret--such
as a crafty courtier might feel who hugs fortune's favours to him--