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Every separation gives a foretaste of death, and every meeting a foretaste of the resurrection.  This explains why even people who were indifferent to each other, rejoice so much when they meet again after the lapse of twenty or thirty years.

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The deep sorrow we feel on the death of a friend springs from the feeling that in every individual there is a something which we cannot define, which is his alone and therefore irreparable.  Omne individuum ineffabile.  The same applies to individual animals.  A man who has by accident fatally wounded a favourite animal feels the most acute sorrow, and the animal’s dying look causes him infinite pain.

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It is possible for us to grieve over the death of our enemies and adversaries, even after the lapse of a long time, almost as much as over the death of our friends—­that is to say, if we miss them as witnesses of our brilliant success.

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That the sudden announcement of some good fortune may easily have a fatal effect on us is due to the fact that our happiness and unhappiness depend upon the relation of our demands to what we get; accordingly, the good things we possess, or are quite sure of possessing, are not felt to be such, because the nature of all enjoyment is really only negative, and has only the effect of annulling pain; whilst, on the other hand, the nature of pain or evil is really positive and felt immediately.  With the possession, or the certain prospect of it, our demands instantly rise and increase our desire for further possession and greater prospects.  But if the mind is depressed by continual misfortune, and the claims reduced to a minimum, good fortune that comes suddenly finds no capacity for its acceptance.  Neutralised by no previous claims, it now has apparently a positive effect, and accordingly its whole power is exercised; hence it may disorganise the mind—­that is to say, be fatal to it.  This is why, as is well known, one is so careful to get a man first to hope for happiness before announcing it, then to suggest the prospect of it, then little by little make it known, until gradually all is known to him; every portion of the revelation loses the strength of its effect because it is anticipated by a demand, and room is still left for more.  In virtue of all this, it might be said that our stomach for good fortune is bottomless, but the entrance to it is narrow.  What has been said does not apply to sudden misfortunes in the same way.  Since hope always resists them, they are for this reason rarely fatal.  That fear does not perform an analogous office in cases of good fortune is due to the fact that we are instinctively more inclined to hope than to fear; just as our eyes turn of themselves to light in preference to darkness.

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