There is a breed of person in this world for whom I have the deepest sympathy. They are the little people, the petty people, the bitter people. Their own lives are so empty, so filled with frustrations and hopelessness that they can see nothing of beauty about them. They look at a rose and cannot see the beauty of the bloom; they can see only that the roots are buried in the dirt. They watch a sunset and see little of the splendour of it as they weep that night comes too soon. They see a magnificent building being erected, but can only lament the fact that the foundation is set on hard, cold, drab cement. These are the small, desolate individuals, who are forever looking for a wound on someone's soul that they may pry open; the gossipy, petty people, who are constantly, as they say, "putting two and two together” to come up with the latest choice bit of news about this person, that person, any person at all. It matters not a bit to them that they don't know what they are talking about. They care little about the fact that many people may be hurt because of their actions. To them, it is an outlet, a twisted, sick habit. They are compelled by the drabness of their own lives to add colourful details to the lives of those about them. They are dangerous people too, for they snipe at everything sacred, everything good, regardless of who may go down under the hail of unfair invective. I repeat, I feel sorry for such people. There is so much beauty in life, they never see, for they are sick and only see the dirt. The next time you are tempted to gossip, ask yourself "is it true, is it kind, will anyone be the better for my having repeated it?"
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