by Henry James, Madame de Mauves — Chapter 5 (1874)
“ It was a singular form for passionate faith to take, but it had all of the sweetness and the ardour of passionate faith. It led me to take a great step, and it lies behind me now, far off, a vague deceptive form melting in the light of experience. It has faded, but it hasn't vanished. Some feelings, I'm sure, die only with ourselves; some illusions are as much the condition of our life as our heart-beats. They say that life itself is an illusion--that this world is a shadow of which the reality is yet to come. Life is all of a piece then and there's no shame in being miserably human. ”
