In monasteries where there is no talking, no visiting, the influence of a corridor in which each little room is the scene of assiduous work encourages and spurs on each ascetic; these apparently isolated little cells form a hive; the silence is collective; the work is in fellowship; walls are no barrier to the concord of soul; one and the same spirit reigns over all; and in the total harmony each one’s thought stands out like the motif of a symphony, supported and prolonged by the great general wave of sound. And then, when an exchange takes place, the concert grows richer: each person speaks and listens, learns and teaches, takes and gives, getting something even as he gives; and perhaps this last aspect of the cooperation is most to be envied.
Friendship is an obstetric art; it draws out our richest and deepest resources; it unfolds the wings of our dreams and hidden indeterminate thoughts; it serves as a check on our judgments, tries out our new ideas, keeps up our ardor, and inflames our enthusiasm.
—from The Intellectual Life: Its Spirit, Conditions, and Methods (1921)
