quoth the raven (XLV):

He had never felt this before - not when Henry Cameron colapsed in the office at this feet, not when he saw Steven Mallory sobbing on a bed before him. Those moments have been clean. But this was pity - this complete awareness of a man without worth or hope, this sense of finality, of not to be redeemed. There was shame in this feeling - his own shame that he should have to pronounce such judgement upon a man, that he should know an emotion which contained no shred of respect.
This is pity, he thought, and then he lifted his head in wonder. He thought that there must be something terribly wrong with a world in which this monstrous feeling is called a virtue.

ayn rand, the fountainhead

have a nice easter. i'll be back in a few days.