Love.

"The Abbess went on looking at him for a little while, while he, feeling shrivelled and small and dry, looked at the corner of the room behind her. She said, ‘Your are most constantly in our prayers. And your friend too. I know how much you grieve over those who are under your care: those you try to help and fail, those you cannot help. Have faith in God and remember that He will in His own way and in His own time complete what we so poorly attempt. Often we do not achieve for others the good we intend; but we achieve something, something that goes on from our effort. Good is an overflow. Where we generously and sincerely intend it, we are engaged in a work of creation wich may be mysterious even to ourselves – and because it is mysterious we be afraid of it. But this should not drew us back. God can always show us, if we will, a higher and better way; and we can only learn to love by loving. Remember that all our failures are ultimately failures in love. Imperfect love must not be condemned or rejected, but made perfect. The way is always forward, never back.’
Michael, facing her now, nodded slightly. He could not trust himself to utter any words after his speech. She turned her hand over, opening the palm towards him. He took it, feeling her cool dry grip.

…

He stood a while in the silent room looking at the bars of the grille and at the blank shut door of the panel behind them. Then he closed the panel in his side. How well she knew his heart. But her exhortations seemed to him a marvel rather than a practical inspiration. He was too tarnished an instrument to do the work that needed doing. Love. He shook his head. Perhaps only those who had given up the world had the right to use the word."

In The bell by Iris Murdoch

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