Life must express that Self in definite and individual lines, that is, in beauty.
I spoke again of small and great genius, of art expressing a lesser or a greater completeness, of “Jenny Kissed Me” and “Faust,” Florence’s examples. “With people you must have noticed the same thing. Some people whose lives seem very limited, who understand and know little, still have such harmonious natures that in their spheres they seem complete. But with still other people you feel that their lives are much larger, that they grasp more of life and possess more, because they understand more. The more we understand, sympathize and love, the larger is our life.”
Marian looked puzzled.
“What is it, Marian?” I asked.
“Why,” she said, “should some people be larger and more complete than others?”
“How do you mean, Marian?”
“Why is it so? Why aren’t we all alike?”
“If we were,” said Henry, “it would be very monotonous.”
“Oh, I know that,” said Marian. “But why is it so, anyway?”
“Marian always asks the unanswerable,” I said. “And still—if we believe in progress, in the evolution of self, don’t you see?—some selves are more developed than others.”