ve of them has always seemed a sort of interruption to
the life I desired, something disordered and strained, which hurt me,
and kept me away from the peace I desired--from the fine weighing of
sounds and colours, and the pleasure of beautiful forms and lines; and I
dread to return to life, because one cannot avoid love and sorrow, and
mean troubles, which waste the spirit in vain."

"Yes," I said, "I can understand what you feel very well, because I too
have known what it is to desire to live in peace and beauty, not to be
disturbed or fretted; but the reason, I think, why it is dangerous, is
not because life becomes too _easy_. That is not the danger at all--life
is never easy, whatever it is! But the danger is that it grows too
solemn! One is apt to become like a priest, always celebrating holy
mysteries, always in a vision, with no time for laughter, and disputing,
and quarrelling, and being silly and playing. It is the poor body again
that is amiss. It is like the camel, poor thing; it groans and weeps,
but it goes on. One cannot live wholly in a vision; and life does not
become more simple so, but more complicated, for one's time and energy
are spent in avoiding the sordid and the tiresome things which one
cannot and must not avoid. I remember, in an illness which I had, when I
was depressed and fanciful, a homely old doctor said to me, 'Don't be
too careful of yourself: don't think you can't bear this and that--go
out to dinner--eat and drink rather too much!' It seemed to be coarse
advice, but it was wise."

"Yes," said Charmides, "it was wise; but it is difficult to feel it so
at the time. I wonder! I think perhaps I have made the mistake of being
too fastidious. But it seemed so fine a goal that one had in sight, to
chasten and temper all one's thoughts to what was beautiful--to judge
and distinguish, to choose the right tones and harmonies, to be always
rejecting and refining. It had its sorrows, of course. How often in the
old days one came in contact with some gracious and beautiful
personality, and flung oneself into close relations; and then one began
to see this and that flaw. There were lapses in tact, petulances,
littlenesses; one's friend did not rightly use his beautiful mind; he
was jealous, suspicious, trivial, petty; it ended in disillusionment.
Instead of taking him as a passenger on one's vessel, and determining to
live at peace, to overlook, to accommodate, one began to watch for an
opportunit