We’re convalescents. Most of us are people who never learned an art or a trade, not even the art of enjoying life. Since we’re basically averse to prolonged social contact, even the greatest of friends tend to bore us after half an hour; we long to see them only when we think about seeing them, and the best moments we spend with them occur in our dreams. I don’t know if this is indicative of superficial friendship. Perhaps not. What I do know is that the things we love, or think we love, have their full weight and worth only when simply dreamed.
