The nonappearance of cheerfulness in the lives of good people is finite.

For some folks fate has set countless falls and a fewer loves. If they farewell faith, then, farewell their chance of lifelong happiness.

High expectations I have. In hardness I labor that, fuller joy at the top I may partake. Nevertheless, in vain I toil. And then, friends'and people's reproach I become, because of my drowning hopes that keeps me out of the circle of richies and honor. I'm the distance they keep like plague, because I have no physical wealth and glamour like them. But in all my stony falls and griefs, the word of restoration in the blood given to me upon the altar of salvation, I cling. For in the end, mercy will attend my situation and see to my hard labor with crown of great success.

She has a few aches and a few pains. As we all do when we get older.

How in the heavens do you know that?

If you're not getting happier as you get older, then you're fuckin' up