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288 sullen, morose eyes. Woe to the thinker who, instead of being the gardener of his plants, is but the soil in which they grow. —Much as we may sympathise with our brother when he is unhappy, in his presence we more or less act with insincerity; we refrain from uttering all that we think or the way we think about it, with that prudence of the physician who is standing by the bedside of a patient who is seriously ill. —There are pusillanimous people who have a very poor opinion of their best works and efforts and who are at the same time bad commentators and interpreters of the same; also by way of revenge they do not value the sympathy of others, or altogether do not believe ill sympathy; they are ashamed of appearing carried away by themselves and take a defiant comfort in becoming ridiculous. Such notions we find in the souls of melancholy artists. —We are like shop-windows, wherein we are constantly arranging, hiding, or exhibiting those supposed qualities which others attribute to is—in order to deceive ourselves.