11. My days are like a shadow that declineth. A shadow is unsubstantial enough; how feeble a thing must a declining
shadow be? And I am withered like grass. There are times when through
depression of spirit a man feels as if all life were gone from him, and
existence had become merely a breathing death. Heartbreak has a marvelously
withering influence over our entire system; our flesh at its best is but as
grass, and when it is wounded with sharp sorrows its beauty fades, and it
becomes a shriveled, dried, uncomely thing.
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