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 If
a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it, I should not
mind a bit. But, if a friend of mine had a sorrow and refused to allow
me to share it, I should feel it most bitterly. If he shut the doors of
his house of mourning against me, I would move back again and again and
beg to be admitted, so that I might share in what I was entitled to share.
If he thought me unworthy, unfit to weep with him, I should feel it as
the most poignant humiliation, as the most terrible mode by which disgrace
could be inflicted upon me. He who can look on the loveliness of the world
and share its sorrow, and realize something of the wonder of both, is
in immediate contact with divine things, and has got as near to God's
secret as anyone can get.
– Oscar Wilde
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