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If after I go out a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it, I shouldn’t mind a bit. I can be perfectly happy[131a] by myself. With freedom[131b], books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy? Besides, feasts are not for me any more[131c]. I have given too many to care about them. That side of life is over for me, very fortunately I dare say. But if, after I go out, 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 the house of mourning against me I would come 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[131d], as the most terrible mode in which disgrace could be inflicted on me. But that could not be. I have a right to share in Sorrow, and he who can look at the loveliness of the world, and share its sorrow, and realise 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.
假如出去后，哪位朋友设宴而不请我，我一点也不会介意。 一个人我就可以快乐无边[131a]了。有了自由[131b]、书籍、鲜花，还有月亮，谁能不快乐呢？而且，宴饮也不再是我所喜欢的了[131c]。餐宴我举行过太多已经不为所动了。那方面的生活已经与我无关，我敢说这是非常幸运。但如果出去后，哪位朋友有了哀痛而不让我与他分担，那我就太难受了。如果他把我关在居丧之屋外头，那我会一次又一次第回去，求他放我进门，好分担我有权分担的。如果他认为我不配，不配与他同哭，那我会觉得这是奇耻大辱[131d]，再没有比这更可怕的羞辱了。但这是不可能的。我有权分担悲哀。能看着世界的可爱，又同时分担它的悲哀，并领悟两者的奇妙，这样的人已是直通神性，与上帝的真意再接近不过了。
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