O beware, my lord, of jealousy!
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss
Who certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!
There, indeed, the woe of the suspicious is shown. His minutes are
really "damned;" peace flies his heart, rest from his couch, sanity
from his throne, and, _yielding_ himself, he becomes filled with
murderous anger and imperils his salvation here and hereafter.
CHAPTER XXI
THE WORRIES OF IMPATIENCE
How many of our worries come from impatience? We do not want to wait
until the fruition of our endeavors comes naturally, until the time is
ripe, until we are ready for that which we desire. We wish to
overrule conditions which are beyond our power; we fail to accept
the inevitable with a good grace; we refuse to believe in our
circumscriptions, our limitations, and in our arrogance and pride
express our anger, our indignation, our impatience.
I have seen people whose auto has broken down, worried fearfully
because they would not arrive somewhere as they planned, and in their
impatient fretfulness they annoyed, angered, and upset all around
them, without, in one single degree, improving their own condition
or hastening the repair of the disaster. What folly; what more than
childish foolishness.
A child may be excused for its impatience and petulance for it has not
yet learned the inevitable facts of life--such as that breaks must be
repaired, tires must be made so that they will not leak, and that the
gasoline tank cannot be empty if the machine is to run. But a man, a
woman, is supposed to have learned these incontrovertible facts, and
should, at the same time, have learned acquiesence in them.
A train is delayed; one has an important engagement; worry seems
inevitable and excusable. But is it? Where is the use? Will it replace
the destroyed bridge, renew the washed out track, repair the broken
engine? How much better to submit to the inevitable with graceful
acceptance of the fact, than to fret, stew, worry, and at the same
time, irritate everyone around you.
How serenely Nature rebukes the impatience of the fretful worrier. A
man plants corn, wheat, barley, potatoes--or trees, that take five,
seven years to come to bearing, such as the orange, olive, walnut,
date, etc. Let him fret ever so much, worry all he likes, chafe and
fret every hour; let him go and dig up his seeds or plants to urge
their upgrowing; let him even swear in his impatient worry and
threaten to smash all his machinery, discharge his men, and turn
his stock loose; Nature goes on her way, quietly, unmoved, serenely,
unhurried, undisturbed by the folly of the one creature of earth who
is so senseless as to worry--viz., man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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