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I want to share with you a couple of the kinds of letters I've been getting ...
Dear Ysabella, My friend is hurting themselves. I'd like to know if I should tell someone about this, because I don't want my friend to be mad at me.
Ok, I don't care if your friend is mad at you — I don't want them to be dead! You need to spread the word — they've let you know — you need to talk to a family member you can trust of theirs, someone at school, someone at work — you need to talk to somebody that can get them some help. Because I'd rather they be mad at me and not want to be my friend — and alive — than anything else, ok?
... The second letter:
My boyfriend is hitting me ... how can I break up with him without being mean?
... Now, when someone's looking for a doormat, they don't care whether it's mean or nice — they just want to know 'can they wipe their feet on it?' ... The next time you see a little girl ... imagine if she was in the situation you are in. What would want for her, really? If that breaks your heart, remember in that moment that you are as valuable, and as cherished, and as loved, and as important as any woman on this planet. ... Stand up for yourself — don't be afraid to expect to be treated like a human being.
--
"Women Stand Up (Mama, don't take no mess!)" (12 June 2007)

 

Ysabella Brave

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The First [Friend] is the alter ego, the man who first reveals to you that you are not alone in the world by turning out (beyond hope) to share all your most secret delights. There is nothing to be overcome in making him your friend; he and you join like raindrops on a window. But the Second Friend is the man who disagrees with you about everything... Of course he shares your interests; otherwise he would not become your friend at all. But he has approached them all at a different angle. he has read all the right books but has got the wrong thing out of every one... How can he be so nearly right, and yet, invariably, just not right? He is as fascinating (and infuriating) as a woman.

 

C. S. Lewis

 

HAST thou a Friend, as heart may wish at will?
Then use him so, to have his friendship still.
Would'st have a Friend, would'st know what friend is best?
Have God thy friend who passeth all the rest.

 

Thomas Tusser

 

I consider myself to be a true friend of the Israeli people. But I define friendship as someone who takes care of a friend, who just doesn't use or exploit a friend. And, you know, there's that old adage: 'Friends don't let friends drive drunk'.

 

Scott Ritter

 

"A friend and a prudent friend, can help to shape a friend's decision. He does so by virtue of that love which makes the friend's problem his own, the friend's ego his own (so that after all it is not entirely "from outside"). For by virtue of that oneness which love can establish he is able to visualize the concrete situation calling for decision, visualize it from, as it were, the actual center of responsibility. Therefore it is possible for a friend - only for a friend and only for a prudent friend - to help with counsel and direction to shape a friend's decision or, somewhat in the manner of a judge, help to reshape it.
Such geniune and prudent loving friendship (amor amicitiae) - which has nothing in common with sentimental intimacy, and indeed is rather imperiled by such intimacy - is the sine qua non for geniune spirtual guidance. For only this empowers another to offer the kind of direction which - almost! - conforms to the concrete situation in which the decision must be made."

 

Josef Pieper

 

I had a friend, a companion of my own age, who, when he was twenty, had loved a young girl. He was poor, she was rich. Her family separated them. The girl married some one else and almost immediately afterward she died. My friend lived. Some day you will know for yourself that it is almost as true to say that one recovers from all things as that there is nothing which does not leave its scar. I had been the confidant of his serious passion, and I became the confidant of the various affairs that followed that first ineffaceable disappointment. He felt, he inspired, other loves. He tasted other joys. He endured other sorrows, and yet when we were alone and when we touched upon those confidences that come from the heart's depths, the girl who was the ideal of his twentieth year reappeared in his words. How many times he has said to me, "In others I have always looked for her and as I have never found her, I have never truly loved any one but her."

 

Paul Bourget