“My mind was sharpened by life's abrasion. I was like a blunt pencil, but I was cut and it sharpened my life's focus. Now I draw my life's picture in finer lines.”

A pencil gets sharper by losing wood. That is the trade, and it is not a kind one, which is what separates it from the usual encouragement about hard times making you stronger. Innocent draws in finer lines now than he did before those years, and he is plain that the cutting cost him something real. Nobody is being told to want it. He simply reports that his worst years did him the most good, and a verdict like that is only available looking back.