When we hate a man, we hate in him something which resides in us ourselves.
What is not in us does not move us.” Never had Pistorius said anything to me which went home so deeply as this. I could not reply.
But what moved me most singularly and most powerfully was that Pistorius in this conversation had struck the same note as Demian,
whose words I had carried in my mind for years and years past.
They knew nothing of one another, and both said to me the same thing.
“The things we see,” said Pistorius softly, “are the same things which are in us.
There is no reality except that which we have in ourselves.
For that reason most people live so unreally, because they hold the impressions of the outside world for real,
and their own world in themselves never enters into their consideration.
You can be happy like that. But if once you know of the other, then you no longer have the choice to go the way most people go.
Sinclair, the road for most people is easy, ours is hard. Let us go.”
A few days later, after I had on two occasions waited for him in vain, I met him late one evening in the street.
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