happiness fall--the happiness fate cannot touch; that brings to all
men the oblivion it gave unto Socrates, and causes each one to
forget, until nightfall, that the death--giving cup had been drained
ere the sun went down.

36. The inner life, perhaps, is not what we deem it to be. There are
as many kinds of inner lives as there are of external lives. Into
these tranquil regions the smallest may enter as readily as he who
is greatest, for the gate that leads thither is not always the gate
of the intellect. It often may happen that the man of vast knowledge
shall knock at this gate in vain, reply being made from within by
the man who knows nothing. The inner life that is surest, most
lasting, possessed of the uttermost beauty, must needs be the one
that consciousness slowly erects in itself, with the aid of all that
is purest in the soul. And he is wise who has learned that this life
should be nourished on every event of the day: he to whom deceit or
betrayal serves but to enhance his wisdom: he in whom evil itself
becomes fuel for the flame of love. He is wise who at last sees in
suffering only the light that it sheds on his soul; and whose eyes
never rest on the shadow it casts upon those who have sent it
towards him. And wiser still is the man to whom sorrow and joy not
only bring increase of consciousness, but also the knowledge that
something exists superior to consciousness even. To have reached
this point is to reach the summit of inward life, whence at last we
look down on the flames whose light has helped our ascent. But not
many can climb so high; and happiness may be achieved in the less
ardent valley below, where the flames spring darkly to life. And
there are existences still more obscure which yet have their places
of refuge. There are some that instinctively fashion inward lives
for themselves. There are some that, bereft of initiative or of