Excerpts from Russell...
It is a most wholesome thing, when one's sorrow grows acute, to view it as having all happened long, long ago: to join in the imagination, the mournful company of dim souls whose lives were sacrificed to the great machine that grinds on. I see the past, like a sunny landsacpe, where the world's mourners mourn no longer. On the banks of the river of Time, the sad procession of human generations is marching slowly to the grave; but in the quiet country of the past, the tired wanderers rest, and all their weeping is hushed.
