Pain, Thou Art Not An

Sometimes One Has Suffered Enough To Have The Right To Never Say: I Am Too Happy.

Ah," Said The Jailer, "do Not Always Brood Over What Is Impossible, Or You Will Be Mad In A Fortnight.

Joy To Hearts Which Have Suffered Long Is Like The Dew On The Ground After A Long Drought; Both The Heart And The Ground Absorb That Beneficent Moisture Falling On Them, And Nothing Is Outwardly Apparant.

Oh! The Good Times When We Were So Unhappy.

Now I'd Like Someone To Tell Me There Is No Drama In Real Life!