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In old age it is indeed a consolation to think that the work of life is over and done with.
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In old age it is indeed a consolation to think that the work of life is over and done with.
Besides my daylight servitude, I served over again all night in my sleep, and would awake with terrors of imaginary false entries, errors in my accounts, and the like.
The phantom of the next day, with the dreary five to follow, sate as a load upon my poor Sabbath recreations.
My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over.
Theirs is an American tragedy in which we all have played a part. It could go on and on and on, or someone must write the end to it.
The result was that I gradually, but completely, emerged from my habitual depression, and was never again subject to it.
At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my life was constructed fell down.
But the time came when I awakened from this as from a dream.
Now, old age is as it were the playing out of the drama, the full fatigue of which we should shun, especially when we also feel that we have had more than enough of it.
Some day the world will understand that, and the little oases on the windy tops of hills will harbor for healing its ailing, house-weary broods.