"Between friends differences in taste or opinion are irritating in direct proportion to their triviality"
About this Quote
Auden observes that what most exasperates friends are not grand divergences of creed or ethics but the tiny frictions of taste: the song one cannot stand, the seasoning that ruins dinner, the habitual opinion about a film. The paradox is that the less a matter deserves to be fought over, the more it chafes. Large disagreements are recognizable as serious; they summon patience, tact, or even a principled parting of ways. Trivial ones seem gratuitous, a needless snag that recurs in daily life and cannot be elevated into a noble argument. Because they are constant and low-stakes, they nibble at the bond.
The observation echoes Freud’s idea of the narcissism of small differences. We expect a friend to mirror us in the minor landscapes of preference, the shared rituals that create ease. When that expectation fails, the jolt feels like a personal slight, even when it is not. Irritation is also a symptom of proximity. Only people close enough to share kitchens, playlists, and punchlines have the opportunity to be driven mad by how the other loads a dishwasher or ranks the Beatles. The trivial is where intimacy lives; it is also where vanity hides. To be irritated by small differences is to defend a private style we mistake for selfhood.
Auden, a poet who prized civility and was keenly aware of how taste slides into moralizing, often used such aphorisms to puncture self-importance. In essays like those gathered in The Dyer’s Hand, he treats taste as real but not sovereign, a realm for charm and hospitality rather than judgment. The line functions as both diagnosis and caution. If annoyance grows as the stakes shrink, that is a sign to step back, laugh at oneself, and distinguish the essential from the habitual. Friendships do not require sameness; they require the grace to let the small be small.
The observation echoes Freud’s idea of the narcissism of small differences. We expect a friend to mirror us in the minor landscapes of preference, the shared rituals that create ease. When that expectation fails, the jolt feels like a personal slight, even when it is not. Irritation is also a symptom of proximity. Only people close enough to share kitchens, playlists, and punchlines have the opportunity to be driven mad by how the other loads a dishwasher or ranks the Beatles. The trivial is where intimacy lives; it is also where vanity hides. To be irritated by small differences is to defend a private style we mistake for selfhood.
Auden, a poet who prized civility and was keenly aware of how taste slides into moralizing, often used such aphorisms to puncture self-importance. In essays like those gathered in The Dyer’s Hand, he treats taste as real but not sovereign, a realm for charm and hospitality rather than judgment. The line functions as both diagnosis and caution. If annoyance grows as the stakes shrink, that is a sign to step back, laugh at oneself, and distinguish the essential from the habitual. Friendships do not require sameness; they require the grace to let the small be small.
Quote Details
| Topic | Friendship |
|---|
More Quotes by H. Auden
Add to List
