Lifes' hard times

I am reading a book right now by George MacDonald. I have read this book before but was in need of reading it again. You know how you read a book once and realise even as you are reading it for the first time that you will read it many times again. You know that you will never fully grasp the conscept and yet this very fact about the book makes you love it even more. It is called "Phantastes", a fantasy in fairy land. A tale of a man who falls many times but keeps on going.

The passage that has struck me this time is in chapter 10, paragraph 4.
"From this I was partly aroused by a glimmering of white, that, through the trees on the left, vaguely crossed my vision, as I gazed upwards. But the trees again hid the object; and at the moment, some strange bird-song, with constant reptitions of the same melody, but what sounded like a continuous strain, in which one thought was expressed deepening in intesity as it evolved in progress. It sounded like a welcome already overshadowed with the comeing of farewell. As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold to deepest truthes, although deepest truthes must be deepest joy. Cometh white-robed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide the doors she may not enter. Almost we linger with Sorrow for very love.

It is strange when we look back on life remembering the sorrows and the joy that has come from knowing them, then when again in such a time we fear it shall never end. When in the sorrow we fight to be out, but it is even that very fight that will cause us to see the joys. Wars are rememberd not for the joy of the blood shed but instead for the joys that could come from such sufferings. When one is cut they know that to be heald is better where if one never gets cut they will never know how blessed they truelly are. I am truelly blessed this I know without a doubt.