It is surely better to pardon too much, than to condemn too much.
I am the Turquoise Woman's Son,On top of Belted Mountainbeautiful horses--slim like a weasel!My horse with a hoof like a striped agate,with his fetlock like a fine eagle plume:my horse whose legs are like quick lightningwhose body is an eagle-plumed arrow:my horse whose tail is like a trailing black cloud.The Little Holy Wind blows through his hair.My horse with a mane made of short rainbows.My horse with ears made of round corn.My horse with eyes made of big starts.My horse with a head made of mixed waters.My horse with teeth made of white shell.The long rainbow is in his mouth for a bridleand with it I guide him.
Put yourself in Hamlet's shoes. Suppose you were a prince, and you came back from college to discover that your uncle had murdered your father and married your mother, and you fell in love with a beautiful girl and mistakenly murdered her father, and then she went crazy and drowned herself. What would you do? Go back for a masters?
We need to distinguish between nostalgia and the reassuring memory of happy times, which serves to link the present to the past and to provide a sense of continuity. The emotional appeal of happy memories does not depend on disparagement of the present, the hallmark of the nostalgic attitude. Nostalgia appeals to the feeling that the past offered delights no longer obtainable. Nostalgic representations of the past evoke a time irretrievably lost and for that reason timeless and unchanging. Strictly speaking, nostalgia does not entail the exercise of memory at all, since the past it idealizes stands outside time, frozen in unchanging perfection. Memory too may idealize the past, but not in order to condemn the present. It draws hope and comfort from the past in order to enrich the present and to face what comes with good cheer.