"There the penitents took off their shoes. And walked barefoot the remaining mile." Robert Lowell
Some people have to have pain. If dirt doesn't fall on their heads from the sky, they sulk in corners and hope their flesh turns to dust. They do everything the hard way, even when they know better, and often complain and accuse others for their pain. for people like this, even the song of a bird is a bother. It's better to smile when people like that accuse. It's better to wear shoes when walking on stones, better to take the shortest way. There is weeping and wailing enough in the world, dumps full of worn-out guilt and remorse. When the bird sings, it's better to look up and see that it beats its wings not to punish itself, but to fly.
Do I pity myself when I could be flying?
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