What do you think your effect is on others?, W. asks. Do you motivate them, inspire them, spur them on? Do you make them think more than they could think on their own? Does the fact of your friendship change the way in which they see the world or vice versa?
Every time he meets someone (except me), W. asks himself how he could have been kinder, better and more gracious. Every time he thinks of his friends (except me), he asks himself what he might to do to help them or look after them better; he asks himself what he might do to further their thoughts or their writing.
What does friendship mean to you, really?, W. asks. Do you think you're capable of it, friendship? Do you think you've ever been a friend to anyone? Can you even conceive of what being a friend might mean?: these questions constantly pass through his head, W. says, as he knows they do not pass through mine.
Friendship makes the highest demands upon him, says W. It's a kind of test. It's the only chance for him, friendship, says W.; that and love. Love and friendship are the only things that might redeem him, W. says. And what about you?, he says. How will you redeem yourself? What are you going to do to redeem your miserable existence?
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