The only people who are strangers to joy are the people who shirk every difficulty, and never contend with a troublesome task. It requires a little pressure even to get the juice out of a grape, and it does seem as though the fine juices of life are only tasted where there is a certain stress and strain, a certain pressure, a certain sense of burden and task. We never drift into strength. The man who drifts with the stream appears to be conserving his strength, while in reality the ease is just the measure of the leakage. Life is not enriched by selfishness, but by sacrifice.
Life becomes fruitful only when it becomes sacrificial.
This is true concerning our influence upon one another. It seems ordained that life has to attain a certain fervour of sacrifice before it can become contagious and multiply itself throughout the race. On the cold planes of calculation and selfishness life is unimpressive, and its products leave the general life unmoved. Just so much will be the measure of healing. The spirit of sacrifice not only impresses others, it fertilizes self.