Alas, what a wretched thing were Life, if there were no Death in it. I fancy the foolishest man would grow desperate of his existence and its paltrinesses, if that celestial temple, fearful and wonderful to the foolishest, stood not always in the background. Standing there, it makes the meanest life divine. Dying we do become a kind of Gods….
Do you read many Books? You will find resources in Literature, the more as you get deeper into it. A picture of the struggle of a man; every book is that. All men in all ages, one finds, have had intrinsically the same struggle as we; identical, tho under such diversity of vesture. The face[s] of them, on this hand and on that, give one comfort: We are not alone then; we are in an endless army of comrades!
from a letter of Oct. 21, 1840 to the author, Geraldine Jewsbury