For a few days I had become aloof in the house, avoiding my
wife and looking for a quiet corner where I can laugh myself without disturbing
her. Eventually she found out that I was
reading A. B. Paine’s account of Mark Twain’s life. Written at right about the time when Twain
bode goodbye to this world, Paine has done a remarkable job in preserving the mischievous
genius who can still make you roll on the floor once you make use of your
imaginations.
Putting aside his disdain
for religion (not sure if he really hated God, possibly he did), it is no
wonder that much of the literate world admires his life; his determination to
live a life that is here for once. At the age of 12, standing beside his father’s
death bed, he was overcome by remorse but it was too late. However, standing with him at his father’s
side, he found the loving embrace of his mother where he promised to be a good
boy but with one condition; he won’t go to school. On his father’s dead body he made his mother
to promise not to send him to school; and today, Mark Twain would be known for
his literary genius world over. 
