Rough wind, that moanest loudGrief too sad for songWild wind, when sullen cloudKnells all the night longSad storm, whose tears are vain,Bare woods, whose branches strain,Deep caves and dreary main,
Wail, for the world's wrong
There ain't nothing that breaks up homes, country, and nations like somebody publishing their memoirs.
Will Rogers
If the past cannot teach the present and the father cannot teach the son, then history need not have bothered to go on, and the world has wasted a great deal of time.
