“…that Sir William was master of his own actions, which the patient was not. There some weakly broke down; sobbed, submitted; others, inspired by Heaven knows what intemperate madness, called Sir William to his face a damnable humbug; questioned, even more impiously, life itself. Why live? they demanded. Sir William replied that life was good. Certianly Lady Bradshaw in ostrich feathers hung over the mantelpiece, and as for his income it was quite twelve thousand a year. But to us, they protested, life has given no such bounty. He acquiesced. They lacked a sense of proportion. And perhaps after all, there is no God? He shrugged his shoulders. In short, this living or not living is an affair of our own? But they were mistaken” (Woolfe 101).
I think this is a daily issue people deal with. Those that struggle greatly in life tend to question it and it’s necessity while those that have it a bit easier tend to find bliss in life. It’s not that they haven’t seen pain; everyone goes through pain. However some people just go through a deeper pain than others and so they don’t find life as blissful.
Woolf, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway. San Diego: Harcourt, 1981. Print.