Isn't it odd? Why do we always feel just as guilty when we think of our teachers as when we think of our parents? And not because of anything that happened at school -- no, not at all. It's because of what became of us later.

As the soil was renewed, so one's feelings seemed to change, uniting in some inexplicable way with a distant age when the eyes and ears of men were more alert to sights, sounds, and fine distinctions.

It wasn't that easy to leave your established home, the place made sacred by the graves of your parents, and move on to who knew where.

In the olden days, at least, they knew when to stop. ""Now they don't any more. In the olden days they had some shame as well.""Yes, now they ain't got no shame either.