But man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured.
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven,
As make the angels weep.
The sick in mind, and perhaps in body, are rendered darkly and more hopelessly so, by the manifold reflections mirrored back from every quarter, in the deportment of those about them. They are compelled to inhale the poison of their own breath in infinite repetition.
Doing nothing for others is the undoing of one's self. We must be purposely kind and generous, or we miss the best part of existence. The heart that goes out of itself, gets large and full of joy. This is the great secret of the inner life. We do ourselves the most good doing something for others.
