Henry James to Grace Norton:
I don't know why we live--the gift of life comes to us from I don't know what source or for what purpose; but I believe we can go on living for the reason that (always of course up to a point) life is the most valuable thing we know anything about, and it is therefore presumptively a great mistake to surrender it while there is any yet left in the cup. In other words consciousness is an illimitable power, and though at times it may seem to be all consciousness of misery, yet in the way it propagates itself from wave to wave, so that we never cease to feel, and though at moments we appear to, try to, pray to, there is something that holds one in one's place, makes it a standpoint in the universe which it is probably good not to forsake! You are right in your consciousness that we are all echoes and reverberations of the same, and you are noble when your interest and pity as to everything that surrounds, appears to have a sustaining and harmonizing power. Only don't, I beseech you, generalize too much in these sympathies and tendernesses--remember that every life is a special problem which is not yours but another's, and content yourself with the terrible algebra of your own. Don't melt too much into the universe, but be as solid and dense and fixed as you can. We all live together, and those of us who love and know, live so most. We help each other--even unconsciously, each in our own effort, we lighten the effort of others, we contribute to the sum of success, make it possible for others live. Sorrow comes in great waves--no one can know that better than you--but it rolls over us, and though it may almost smother us it leaves us on the spot, and we know that if it is strong we are stronger, inasmuch as it passes and we remain. It wears us, uses us, but we wear it and use it in return; and it is blind, whereas we after a manner see . . .
Cid Corman: No Consolation
I dont know
why we live--
but believe
we can go
on living
because life's
finally
all we know
anything
about. In
other words
consciousness
is power--
though it may
seem at times
to be pure
misery.
Yet the way
it propa-
gates itself
from wave to
wave so that
we never
cease to feel--
though sometimes
we appear
to--try to--
pray to--there
is something
holding one
in one's place--
makes it a
standpoint in
the cosmos
probably
wise not to
forsake. We
are--yes--all
echoes of
the same. But
dont--please--too
much gener-
alize these
feelings--each
life is its
own special
problem--so
be content
with your own
terrible
algebra.
Don't melt in-
to the u-
niverse--
but be as
solid and
dense and fixed
as you can.
Sorrow comes
in great crests
and it rolls
over us
and almost
smothers us--
yet leaves us
on the spot
and we know
that if it
is strong we
are stronger:
it passes--
we remain.
It wears us--
uses us--
but we wear
it--use it
in return
and it is
blind whereas
we--after
a manner--
see. But wait.
We will help
each other.
You have my
tenderest
affection
and all my
confidence.
Henry James.