My grandmother had six kids - one died as an infant - and she was dirt-poor and all her kids got an education. And my mom grew up poor. And they both worked so hard and cultivated so much of their own happiness. I wanted to have that like an amulet. Not like armor but like a magic feather. Like Dumbo's magic feather.

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The person who grieves suffers his passion to grow upon him he indulges it he loves it but this never happens in the case of actual pain which no man ever willingly endured for any considerable time.