“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. He is not so
much the alter ego as the antiself. 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. It is as if he spoke your language but mispronounced
it. How can he be so nearly right and yet, invariably, just not right? He is as
fascinating (and infuriating) as a woman. When you set out to correct his
heresies, you will find that he forsooth has decided to correct yours! And then
you go at it, hammer and tongs, far into the night, night after night, or
walking through fine country that neither gives a glance to, each learning the
weight of the other's punches, and often more like mutually respectful enemies
than friends. Actually (though it never seems so at the time) you modify one
another's thought; out of this perpetual dogfight a community of mind and a
deep affection emerge.”
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