It fills me with a mixture of hope and of quiet sadness that we so often do not recognise the value of others and the good they do in our world. We do not note the small acts of ordinary kindness, so keen are we to vaunt the exploits of the famous and the infamous, so eager to either praise or mock extravagant gestures. Our lives are steered gently by those who love us, rebuke us, protect us - even when we do not see it. George Eliot puts it in just the right tone of voice:
...for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs. - George Eliot, from Middlemarch
