"<p>It often happens that the real tragedies of life happen in such an inartistic way that they offend us with their gross sloppiness, complete confusion, incompetent senselessness, and utter lack of style. They affect us like the audience itself. They subjugate us by sheer brute force, and we rebel against it. Sometimes, however, a tragedy occurs in our lives that has the artistic elements of beauty. If these elements of beauty are real, then the whole case only captures our sense of dramatic scenes. At the same time, we feel that we are no longer actors, but spectators of the play. Or rather, both actors and viewers. We watch ourselves, and the sheer magic of the game also enchants us.</p>"