"You must try to be more sober in your opinions about me," Sensei once said to me.

"But I am being sober," I cried, confidently. Sensei, however, refused to take me seriously.

"You are like a man in a fever. When that fever passes, your enthusiasm will turn to disgust. Your present opinion of me makes me unhappy enough. But when I think of the disillusionment that is to come, I feel even greater sorrow."

"Do you think me so fickle? Do you find me so untrustworthy?"

"I am simply sorry for you."

"I deserve your sympathy but not your trust. Is that what you mean, Sensei?"

"It is not you in particular that I distrust, but the whole of humanity."

... "At any rate," he continued, "don't put too much trust in me. You will learn to regret it if you do. And if you ever allow yourself to feel betrayed, you will then find yourself being cruelly vindictive."

"What do you mean?"

"The memory that you once sat at my feet will begin to haunt you and, in bitterness and shame, you will want to degrade me. I do not want your admiration now, because I do not want your insults in the future. I bear with my loneliness now, in order to avoid greater loneliness in the years ahead. You see, loneliness is the price we have to pay for being born in this modern age, so full of freedom, independence, and our own egotistical selves."



Kokoro [excerpt], by Natsume Soseki