I seldom remember my father, but I sneeze and rub my nose the way he did. I also love my son with grief and anger, as he did.
An insult angers me. Being ignored crushes me.
All anger feels like righteous anger; sorrow does not care whether it is righteous or not.
Idleness makes people feeble and peevish. Work makes them stalwart and prone to anger.
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