Affliction comes to us, not to make us sad but sober; not to make us sorry but wise.
H. G. WellsRead
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Affliction comes to us, not to make us sad but sober; not to make us sorry but wise.
Why are you drinking? demanded the little prince. "So that I may forget," replied the tippler. "Forget what?" inquired the little prince, who was already sorry for him. "Forget that I am ashamed," the tippler confessed, hanging his head. "Ashamed of what?" insisted the little prince, who wanted to help him. "Ashamed of drinking!
Being an American means never having to say you're sorry.
Suddenly for no earthly reason I felt immensely sorry for him and longed to say something real, something with wings and a heart, but the birds I wanted settled on my shoulders and head only later when I was alone and not in need of words.
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