There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice - patched, retreaded and approved for the road.
Olivia: Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you; besides, you grow dishonest. Feste: Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him; any thing that's mended is but patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue.
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