It resembles the composer. No action, no hope.
Every person has a choice.
He can love the world's beauty and be happy or he can hate its ugliness and be miserable. The player on the other side is hidden from us. We know that his play is always fair, jut, and patient. But also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance. I seem to have been only a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and finding a smoother pebble or prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.