Our quaint metaphysical opinions, in an hour of anguish, are like playthings by the bedside of a child deathly sick.
Our quaint metaphysical opinions, in an hour of anguish, are like playthings by the bedside of a child deathly sick.
Real pain can alone cure us of imaginary ills. We feel a thousand miseries till we are lucky enough to feel misery.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories