Din epilog.
" A child is bitten by a rat. The parent rushes to comfort him. But the bite on the hand becomes septic and the child's hand must be taken to preserve his life. That day, the child's life changes forever.
Or a child is bitten by a rat. The parent rushes to comfort him. The wound heals well without a scar and all is well.
But it isn't. The memory of the bite and the rat will be carried by the child for the rest of his life. Even as a grown man, the sound of the scuttling in the night will make him awake bathed in sweat. He cannot work in the barns or around granaries. When his dog brings him a dead rat, he starts back in terror.
Such is the power of memory. It is fully as strong as the most feverish infection, and it lingers not just for a period of sicknes but for all days of a man's life. As dye soaks fibres, drawn into them to change their colour forever, so does a memory, stinging or sweet, change the fibre of a man's character.
Memories of joy etch just as deeply into a man's heart as those of pain or terror. And they, too, soak and prevade his awareness of the world. [...]
Those are the memories from which a man builds the fortess that protects his heart. They are the touchstones that tell him that he is worthy of respect, and his lifehas a meanin beyond mere existence."
" A child is bitten by a rat. The parent rushes to comfort him. But the bite on the hand becomes septic and the child's hand must be taken to preserve his life. That day, the child's life changes forever.
Or a child is bitten by a rat. The parent rushes to comfort him. The wound heals well without a scar and all is well.
But it isn't. The memory of the bite and the rat will be carried by the child for the rest of his life. Even as a grown man, the sound of the scuttling in the night will make him awake bathed in sweat. He cannot work in the barns or around granaries. When his dog brings him a dead rat, he starts back in terror.
Such is the power of memory. It is fully as strong as the most feverish infection, and it lingers not just for a period of sicknes but for all days of a man's life. As dye soaks fibres, drawn into them to change their colour forever, so does a memory, stinging or sweet, change the fibre of a man's character.
Memories of joy etch just as deeply into a man's heart as those of pain or terror. And they, too, soak and prevade his awareness of the world. [...]
Those are the memories from which a man builds the fortess that protects his heart. They are the touchstones that tell him that he is worthy of respect, and his lifehas a meanin beyond mere existence."
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