If all that we say in a single day, with never a word left out, were printed each night in clear black and white, t'would make queer reading no doubt.
And then, just suppose, Ere one's eyes he could close, he must read the day's record through:
Then wouldn't he sigh, and wouldn't he try a great deal less talking to do?
I more than half think that many a kink would be straightened in life's tangled thread.
If one half that we say in a single day were left forever unsaid.
To the backbiters and gossipers at in the world.