infinitely further than seemed to be reasonable, practical, just.
The violent death that was not unexpected came towards him, with
half his road yet untravelled; to teach us that often in this
strange conflict between man and his destiny, the question is not
how to save the life of our body, but that of our most beautiful
feelings, of our loftiest thoughts,

"Of what avail are my loftiest thoughts if I have ceased to exist?"
there are some will ask; to whom others, it may be, will answer,
"What becomes of myself if all that I love in my heart and my spirit
must die, that my life may be saved?" And are not almost all the
morals, and heroism, and virtue of man summed up in that single
choice?

24. But what may this wisdom be that we rate thus highly? Let us not
seek to define it too closely; that were but to enchain it. If a man
were desirous to study the nature of light, and began by
extinguishing all the lights that were near, would not a few
cinders, a smouldering wick, be all he would ever discover? And so
has it been with those who essayed definition. "The word wise," said
Joubert, "when used to a child, is a word that each child
understands, and that we need never explain." Let us accept it even
as the child accepts it, that it may grow with our growth. Let us
say of wisdom what Sister Hadewijck, the mysterious enemy of
Ruijsbroeck the Admirable, said of love: "Its profoundest abyss is
its most beautiful form." Wisdom requires no form; her beauty must
vary, as varies the beauty of flame. She is no motionless goddess,
for ever couched on her throne. She is Minerva who follows us, soars
to the skies with us, falls to the earth with us, mingles her tears
with our tears, and rejoices when we rejoice. Truly wise you are not