"Well, I suppose I say so at the times when I am unable to enjoy anything in my life. And yet, if you stop to think, what does anybody's life amount to? Nobody's missed, after he is gone; or only for a minute; and for himself—There is not a year of my life that I can remember, that I would be willing to live over again."
"Apparently, then, to enjoy is not the chief end of existence. I mean, of this existence."
"What do we know of any other? And if we do not enjoy ourselves, pray what in the world should we live for?"
"I have seen people that I thought enjoyed themselves," Philip said slowly.
"Have you? Who were they? I do not know them."
"You know some of them. Do you recollect a friend of mine, for whom you negotiated lodgings at a far-off country village?"
"Yes, I remember. They took her, didn't they?"
"They took her. And I had the pleasure once or twice of visiting her there."
"Did she like it?"
"Very much. She could not help liking it. And I thought those people seemed to enjoy life. Not relatively, but positively."