It is very, very difficult for me to know what to forgive among people’s vices (mine, too). Where to take a stand and say, finally, this is wrong, and therefore this person or that no longer deserves my love or friendship or anyone else’s. Europeans are better off than Americans in being brought up from infancy with clear ideas on morality—at least compared to Americans. Believing as I do that only out of personal chaos and failure and humiliation can truth and real character come, it is twice as hard for me. When should one’s patience give out? When should one stop believing in the core of goodness in everyone? In this is the whole art of life. And because it is an art, not a science, no one will ever lay down the laws. It is for this reason only that people are different, one from another. It is because of its flexibility that it torments me.