A friend of mine, a writer of world renown, went through a dangerous surgical operation, during which I found him alone, in mind and in spirit. He said to me as he lay on his bed: "My illness was a kind of test for me, and it changed my personality completely, for a man does not appreciate the value of health until he loses it. All I want is to be cured; it does not matter to me if I cannot write another story, or if I lose my fortune. I prayed — for the first time since my childhood — and my soul was refreshed after the prayer. But there was one thing whose importance I had never appreciated, and that is friends. You know me for a withdrawn man, a philosopher. I struggled all my life to establish myself, and it cost me years of striving; and I suddenly felt that I had no friends but you — and it is hard for a man to live alone in this world.

"My work kept me from friendship and from the company of companions, and all this became clear to me in the moment of my pain and my solitude."

This writer is strong of personality, wise, and pleasant company; but, as he said, he was absorbed in work, and proud, as though he lived in an ivory tower from which he looked out over the world without taking part in its movement.

This is our problem, we writers. We stand aside to let the world pass by,

then set down whatever our senses and our eyes light upon. With all that poured forth from his inner gifts, my friend was alone; he devoted his time to writing and forgot friendship — and this is what happens to everyone who rises in thought and in position.

Do not multiply your friends, for that brings confusion into your life; rather let them be a chosen few, in whose sincerity you trust. I know a university student, excellent in her work and her character, but her social life is deficient, and so she has begun to feel lonely in spite of her kindness, her quick wit, and her gentle manner. She tried to overcome her fear, her hesitation, and her instability, and gave many parties, gathering both sexes, and forced herself to appear at ease and sociable; but she soon discovered that

parties do not relieve loneliness — they feed it, and increase its terror once the din and clamor die away.