Why Do We Have Such A Finite

What Doesn't Kill Us Makes Us Funnier.

I've Never Made A Secret Of The Fact That I'd Have Loved To Have Children.

They Say The Path Of True Love Never Runs Smooth. Well, Luke And My True Love's Path Didn't Run At All, It Limped Along In New Boots That Were Chafing Its Heels. Blistered And Cut, Red And Raw, Every Hopping, Lopsided Step, A Little Slice Of Agony.

Why Do We Have Such A Finite Capacity For Pleasure But An Infinite One For Pain?

No More Humiliation For Me, Thanks Very Much. No More Swallowing My Anger. Honestly, I Couldn't Manage Another Mouthful. But It Was Delicious. Did You Make It Yourself?