In the middle part of the 19th century, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote a short story, a symbolic fable, called "The Birthmark." This is one of those texts that is so fundamental to an understanding of how to conduct oneself in life, particularly in connection to the human impulse to strive for an unattainable perfection, that it should be required reading in every high school.
Once upon a time there lived a doctor who married a very beautiful woman. In fact, the only slight defect of this earth angel is a small birthmark on her cheek in the shape of a crimson hand. Still, she is a trophy wife beyond compare, and the doctor is well satisfied with her and loves her very much. But gradually, the presence of the birthmark begins to bother him--especially since he, as a man of science, has the technological means to clear up the blemish. He resolves to do just this, and begins a series of operations that are successful in removing the birthmark, but have the unfortunate side-effect of killing his beloved wife.
As you become more and more proficient in the art of record restoration, you will find yourself pursuing an ever higher standard of excellence. The minute clicks that previously were scarcely audible become major irritations. And sometimes you will find a blemish, a birthmark, that you will want to pursue with all of the tenacity of Ahab going after Moby Dick. (Well, I know this is rather flamboyant, but what the heck, I was an English major--what else could you expect.) Anyway, you have to learn when to say to yourself "There. I'm finished. That's good enough." Everyone has to learn to allow a certain amount of imperfection to exist in any earthly object; it is the price of its existence in this world. It is its birthmark.
On the other hand, if she has a really big wart on the end of her nose, you really ought to try and get it off.