solation of holding out a hand to their brothers in misfortune who ignore them and are ignored by them. They are forced to rely on themselves alone; and there are moments when even the strongest give way under their burden of trouble. They call out—for a friend.
Let them then gather around themselves the heroic friends of the past—the great souls who suffered for the good of universal humanity. The lives of great men are not written for the proud or for the ambitious; they are dedicated rather to the unhappy. And who really is not? To those who suffer, we offer the balm of their sacred sufferings. No one is alone in the fight. The darkness of the world is made clear by the guiding light of the souls of the heroes.
I do not give the name hero to those who have triumphed by infinite thought or by sheer physical strength—but only to those to those made great by goodness of heart. Beethoven wrote, "I recognise no sign of superiority in mankind other than goodness." Where the character is not great, there is no great man, there is not even a great artist, nor a great man of action; there are only idols unearthed for the cheap and short-lived applause of the multitude; time will efface them altogether. Outward success matters little. The only thing is to be great, not to appear so.
