There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful.
Lord, may the pain be ours, And the weakness that it brings, But at least give us the strength, Of not showing it to anyone!
The poet is a pretender. / He pretends so completely, / that he even pretends that it is pain / the pain he really feels.
Isn't joyful or painful this pain in which I rejoice
I’ve always wanted to be liked. It grieved me that I was treated with indifference. Left an orphan by Fortune, I wanted—like all orphans—to be the object of someone’s affection. This need has always been a hunger that went unsatisfied, and so thoroughly have I adapted to this inevitable hunger that I sometimes wonder if I really feel the need to eat. Whatever be the case, life pains me.
For valuing your own suffering sets on it the gold of a sun of pride. Suffering a lot can originate the illusion of being the Chosen of Pain.
My joy is as painful as my pain.
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