Harold walked with these strangers and listened. He judged no one […]. He had learned that it was the smallness of people that filled him with wonder and tenderness, and the loneliness of that too. The world was made up of people putting one foot in front of the other; and a life might appear ordinary simply because the person living it had been doing so for a long time. Harold could no longer pass a stranger without acknowledging the truth that everyone was the same, and also unique; and that this was the dilemma of being human.
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry - Rachel Joyce
I could see just that, when I was watching these two at the beach.
This moment somehow stuck with me.