“There’s so much bad in the best of us,
And so much good in the worst of us,
That is scarcely behooves any of us,
To talk about the rest of us.”
“Alas, how easily things go wrong,
A sigh too much, or a kiss too long,
And there follows a mist and a weeping rain,
And life is never the same again.
Alas how hardly things go right,
‘Tis hard to watch in a summer night,
For the sigh will come, and the kiss will stay
And the summer night is a winter day.”
There are some things we would better not know. Or, if we do know them, we would better be as though we did not know them. We should never pry into other people’s matters. We should respect every other man’s individuality. Some people are always seeking to know others’ private affairs. It is the worst kind of impertinence to try to do this. But sometimes there are things told to us voluntarily in confidence, and of these we may not speak. To some people, however, a secret is a heavy burden. They go about “dying to tell,” and yet they dare not tell. In some cases, however, keeping the secret proves impossible and the thing is told – told, of course, as a secret, only to certain trusted persons. But confidence has been violated, and the bearer of the burden has failed of entire loyalty and honour.
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