Words

A man with a troubled conscience went to a monk for advice. He said he had circulated a vile story about a friend, only to learn later that the story was not true. 'If you want to make peace with your conscience,' said the monk, 'you must fill a bag with chicken down, go to every dooryard in the village, and drop in each one of them one fluffy feather.' The man did as he was told and then returned to the monk and announced that he had done his penance for his folly. 'Not yet,' replied the monk. 'Now you must take your empty bag and gather up every feather you dropped.' 'But,' the man stammered, 'that's impossible! The wind will have blown them all away by now!' 'True,' nodded the monk. 'And so it is with words. They are easily scattered–but no matter how hard you try, you can never gather them back again.'