I Don't See How A

The Memory Has As Many Moods As The Temper, And Shifts Its Scenery Like A Diorama.

Wit Is A Form Of Force That Leaves The Limbs At Rest.

... One's Own Faults Are Always A Heavy Chain To Drag Through Life And One Can't Help Groaning Under The Weight Now And Then.

With Memory Set Smarting Like A Reopened Wound, A Man's Past Is Not Simply A Dead History, An Outworn Preparation Of The Present: It Is Not A Repented Error Shaken Loose From The Life: It Is A Still Quivering Part Of Himself, Bringing Shudders And Bitter Flavors And The Tinglings Of A Merited Shame.

Hear Everything And Judge For Yourself