A friend told me years ago a story he’d heard. Of course, he was telling the story second hand (he reported that his friend had heard it related by a visiting authority at a stake conference), and therefore likely got specifics wrong, and it’s been many years since he told me the story so I’ll likely get details wrong, too.
Seems there was a member of the Seventy sitting in conference in the tabernacle (helps you know how long ago it was!) listening to yet another of the brethren speak about a basic principle of the gospel as he watched dust float in the shafts of light. He wondered when the Saints would finally graduate from milk to meat, when conference talks could be substantive and filled with new (or at least rich) doctrine.
As the session ended, he rose to leave the hall, saddened that there was nothing new to be learned at this session. As he looked up to go, he saw two brethren embracing, tears streaming down their faces, talking about the wonderful spirit they had felt in the conference session that day.
And he was saddened that he had missed it.