In love, we worry more about the meaning of silences than the meaning of words.
Travelling, I worry about luggage, prices, and strange food. At home, I am free to broaden my mind by thinking about the higher things.
I reject all evidence that my fabulous beloved is an ordinary person who worries, watches TV, and has bouts of indigestion.
Worrying is as futile as boredom, but harder work.
Worry is not thought; complaining is not action.
I put second things first, and then worry about first things.
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