I have always thought of Christmas time,
when it has come round,
as a good time,
a kind,
forgiving,
charitable time,
the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year,
when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut up hearts freely,
and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave,
and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys,
instead of being a time of unusual behavior,
Christmas is perhaps the only time in the year when people can obey their natural impulses and express their true sentiments without feeling self conscious and,
perhaps, foolish.
Christmas,
in short,
is about the only chance a man has to be himself.
when it has come round,
as a good time,
a kind,
forgiving,
charitable time,
the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year,
when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut up hearts freely,
and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave,
and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys,
instead of being a time of unusual behavior,
Christmas is perhaps the only time in the year when people can obey their natural impulses and express their true sentiments without feeling self conscious and,
perhaps, foolish.
Christmas,
in short,
is about the only chance a man has to be himself.
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