They Say Time Heals All Wounds...

I got my wisdom teeth out last Thursday before coming back to Provo. It was quite an interesting experience to be awake during the procedure, especially not being completely numb for the crushing and removal of one of said teeth.  That first day I was feeling great, but as time went on, I left that feeling behind.  

For the past week, I have had to be really careful of what I eat.  Right now, I can relate pretty well to the cartoon below.

The journey has been interesting, but I am hoping to be able to finally eat, really eat again, soon.  I have been having difficulties still pain-wise, but hopefully, if what they say is true, time heals all wounds.

Shakespeare's Sonnet 60 does not share this opinion of time healing all wounds.  Sonnet 60 speaks on who time passes and how it affects human life.  The first quatrain speaks on how every minute that passes replaces the minute before it.  The second quatrain talks about how time begins by giving to human life, but then continues on by taking away what it has given, beauty, strength, etc.  The third quatrain goes into describing the monster that is time by telling how it robs beauty from both humans and nature.  But then the couplet takes a turn, as couplets often do, where Shakespeare describes his writing as everlasting, despite the powers of time's "cruel hand."

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end; 
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
Nativity, once in the main of light, 
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight, 
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
   And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
   Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Time may heal, and time may hurt, but time is always constant.  Beauty is fleeting.  Writing may be destroyed through time, but the reputation of either or both can last forever, such as Sonnet 60.  See...I might have a little wisdom left after all.