A secret sympathy unites a great community. They recognize one another by a sign, by a look, by the magnetic atmosphere that each one emanates; by their silences more than by their words. Like the children of Light, they have the desire to know and to understand, to love and to believe. The countenances of the greatest among them are veiled by a strange melancholy; for the tragedy of the universe weighs heavily upon their hearts. They feel themselves responsible for it, as portions of the earthly providence that watches over human destiny. But through this veil there shines like an aureole of light the inward joy of those who behold Divinity. In the silence they are conscious of being united to all living creatures by an invisible thread.
The only name for the faculty by which we can discern the element of Beauty which is present in every fact, we must discern in every fact before it becomes truth for us, is love ... The relation between those things is simple and inextricable. When we love a fact, it becomes truth; when we attain that detachment from our passions whereby it becomes possible for us to love all facts, then we have reached our peace. If a truth cannot be loved, it is not truth, but only fact. But the fact does not change in order that it might become truth; it is we who change. All fact is beautiful; it is we who have to regain our innocence to see its beauty.