Monday, August 31, 2009

Here It Is

Count on Edith Wharton to have a handle on it better than I.

From The Letters:
As she listened, her private pang was merged in the intolerable sense of his
unhappiness. Nothing he had said explained or excused his conduct to her; but he had suffered, he had been lonely, had been humiliated, and she suddenly felt, with a fierce maternal rage, that there was no conceivable justification for any scheme of things in which such facts were possible. She could not have said why: she simply knew that it hurt too much to see him hurt.

Yep. That's got it.

I know life isn't fair. But my sense of "it's not fair" still informs my solicitation for the wellbeing of those around me. It's difficult for me to sense justification in anyone's pain, even the pain (as most of it tends to be) people choose for themselves.

I fight it.

It's not fair.

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