Alfred watched. He watched as if there were a rolling pleasant music quite at home within his skull. 'Ben,' he thought, 'appears to be doing rather well for himself.' At once the fine suit on his rigid limbs felt colder, the fabric less luxurious. The stitching that had felt so fine was clumsy. “Rita,” he said, soft and mellow; violins played, overpowering the flutes. “Rita. Do call my tailor, there’s a love. And, invite dear Ken for a cream tea. I insist. My treat.” Mr Kenneth Cotton would pay for his shabby work. Yes. He would be punished for it, humiliated. Maybe he would be so unfortunate that his business would burn to the ground. Yes. This would be a very sweet cream tea indeed. He smiled. The violins played on, their strings singing out beneath long-drawn batons. “Rita,” he said, his voice falling to a rumbling cello-hum. “Fetch me the king’s tailor! Find him. Bring him to me!”
If you envy one who reaches a mountain top and yet do not envy the blood and sweat it took to climb there, perhaps you can transform it to a loving form of respect. They earned it, right?
Envy is a vice because it is rooted in emotional indifference, which is the opposite of love.
If I say I have "envy" I intend it as a compliment, because I love you. Perhaps there is a better way to say it, yet at times the faux-envy has a better impact on self confidence.
Envy is a vice because it poisons the soul, because it can never come from a loving heart. And this is what the philosophy of love teaches, that when love is our supreme first principle, all must stem from it, flow from it, be connected to it.
Everyone you envy as pains too, struggles and challenges. At best envy is a distraction from your task of improving yourself, at worst it is a pathway to your worst self, a person you'll find it hard to respect.