| In Tagore's words... |
[08 Aug 2004|05:55pm] |
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mood |
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 contemplative |
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When left to do their own choosing, women invariably reject ordinary men like me, made up of gross and fine, who know woman to be just woman,- that is to say, neither a clay doll made to serve for our pastime, nor a transcendental melody meant to be evoked at our master touch. They reject us because we have neither the forceful delusions of the flesh, nor the roseate illusions of fancy: we can neither break them on the wheel of our desire, nor melt them in the glow of our fervour to be cast in the mould of our ideal.
Because we know them only for what they are, they may be friendly, but cannot love us. We are their true refuge, for they can rely on our devotion, but, our self-dedication comes so easy they forget that it has a price. So the only reward we get is to be used for their purposes; perchance to win their respect;... but I'm afraid my psychological propositions are more likely nothing but personal greivances.
The fact probably is, what we thus lose is really our gain. Anyway, that is how we may console ourselves.
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