Forgetting is a great blessing. If a person could not forget, certain memories would destroy him.

Forgetting is a great blessing. If a person could not forget, certain memories would destroy him. It is said that the longer you keep vinegar in a dark place, the stronger it becomes and the more its potency grows. Certain memories that remain in the human heart are like vinegar: the more you throw them into the depths of the heart, into the corners of the mind, and the more you flee from them, the more they chase you, and, like vinegar, they gain strength and their effect on the whole body keeps increasing. Thankfully, God has granted the blessing of forgetting. But for forgetting, time must pass, and the passing of time is the diminishing of one's life. And so, to be freed from memories that torment him, a person burns years of his life; as the years pass, he lights the fire in the hearth of forgetting. Still, one must be strong; to live, for the sake of life, one must be strong. Expecting someone among people to show compassion is foolishness; people are cruel; no one has a feeling of pity for another human being like himself; a person cannot pin his hopes on others' sympathy, and not expecting sympathy from others is the most correct decision. One should not open one's heart to people; like Majnun, one should go out into the deserts and reveal one's heart to wild beasts, for their gazes, as they listen to your pain, do not weigh on you like those of people who look at you cruelly; the human race knows neither sincerity nor surrender; if only it were possible, if only a person could flee to places where no human foot can reach... Perhaps, having seen the oppression and cruelty in the world and its people, having understood that the stage of the universe is a prison to live in, a servant strives to make prosperous his courtyards in the abode of the Hereafter... Perhaps in this way a slave draws nearer to his Creator. Perhaps in such moments a wretched, oppressed soul wishes to sweep from his enemies' minds everything they know about him, to make them forget him as if he had never existed, and himself to depart into the depths of nonexistence without a trace or a sound... Perhaps a sick, helpless heart wishes for no one's pity or sympathy, and does not want the oppressors to see even a thousandth of the torments he has endured... Indeed, pain and torment are a treasure, and one must not hand it over to strangers and enemies. When water boils, at the very least steam comes out of it; a person who suffers at the very least sighs, or speaks of his grief; so that this grief does not reach the ears of strangers, one must speak in a language that outsiders do not understand.