I was attending a party one night given in Sir Ross's honor. During the dinner, the man sitting next to me told a humorous story and spoke of the quotation:“There's a divinity（神）that shapes our ends, /Rough-hew them how we will. ”

The storyteller mentioned that the quotation was from the Bible. He was wrong. I knew that； I knew it positively. There couldn't be the slightest doubt about it. And so, to get a feeling of importance and show my high quality, I chose myself as an unwelcome person to correct him. He stuck to his guns. “What? From Shakespeare? Impossible! Absurd ! That quotation was from the Bible. ”

The storyteller was sitting at my right hand, and Frank Gammond, an old friend of mine, was seated at my left hand. Mr. Gammond had devoted years to the study of Shakespeare, so the storyteller and I agreed to leave the question to Mr. Gammond. Mr. Gammond listened, kicked me under the table, and then said ,“Dale, you are wrong. The gentleman is right. It is from the Bible. ”

On our way home that night, I said to Mr. Gammond,“Frank, you knew that quotation was from Shakespeare. ”

“Yes, of course,”he replied. “Hamlet, Act V, Scene 2. But we were guests on a festive occasion, my dear Dale. Why prove to a man he is wrong? Is that going to make him like you? Why not let him save his face? He didn't ask for your opinion. He didn't want it. Why argue with him?”The man who said that taught me a lesson I would never forget. I not only had made the storyteller uncomfortable, but had put my friend in an embarrassing situation. How much better it would have been if I hadn't become argumentative.

Nine times out of ten, an argument ends with each of the contestants（竞争者）more firmly convinced than ever that he is absolutely right. You can't win an argument. You can't because if you lose it, you lose it； and if you win it, you lose it.

It was a sunny winter day. I had gone up and down the tower when, outside the little door at the foot, a blind man came toward me. He was a pale, thin man with dark glasses. He kept close to the inner wall of the courtyard. On reaching the door, he touched it and sharply turned inside. In a moment, he disappeared up the staircase. I stood still, looking at the little sign that said “To the Tower… ” I felt obliged to follow.

I didn’t follow closely. I caught up with him in the ticket office. There I was surprised to see the attendant selling him a ticket as though he were any other visitor. With the ticket in one hand and touching the wall with the other, he reached the staircase leading to the hallway.

“That man is blind,” I said to the attendant, but he showed no concern. “He’s blind,” I repeated. He didn’t answer, looking at me vacantly.

“Perhans he wants to jump,” I said. But his chair was too comfortable. He didn’t stir. He still looked down at a crossword puzzle he had begun. I turned toward the staircase.

“The ticket,” the attendant said, rising from his chair. It seemed the only thing that could move him. After purchasing my ticket, I hurried up the staircase.

The man hadn’t gone as far as I imagined. After ten minutes, I approached him. “Excuse me,” I said as politely as I could, “but I am very curious to know why you came up.”

“You’d never guess,” he said.

“Not the view, I take it, or the fresh air on this winter day,” I said.

He smiled. “Coming up the stairs, one can feel the change-the coo staircase suddenly becomes quite warm, —and how up here behind the wall there is shade, but as soon as one goes opposite a narrow window one finds the sun. In all of Siena there is no place so good as here.”

He moved into the sunlight. Then he stepped into the shade. “Light, shade, light, shade,” he said, and seemed as pleased as a child who, in a game of hopscotch, jumps from square to square.

We went down the tower together. I left him, gladdened as one can only be by the sunlight.