L'enfant sauvage

It would not do good to hear the squirrel's heart beat nor to have imagination as to what horrors and cruelties have already passed to no person's avail, in the hopeless dark or in the brightness of the day, endlessly, repeatedly - especially against the innocent and the pure at heart, even if not completely innocent or completely pure but just a very close enough approximation indeed. I suppose Eliot was thinking about something like this with his "human kind cannot bear very much reality". And what feeble, lazy, self-indulgent hands we raise against this eternity of crime, this never seizing sadism?