This is unspeakable truth to a woman, and never true for one minute to a man.

When man, in the Epicurean spirit, embraces feeling, he makes himself a martyr to it--like Maupassant or Oscar Wilde.

Woman will _never_ understand the depth of the spirit of purpose in man, his deeper spirit.

And man will never understand the sacredness of feeling to woman.

Each will play at the other's game, but they will remain apart.
The whole mode, the whole everything is really different in man and woman.