Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs. - Charlotte Brontë

Your will shall decide your destiny.

But if I feel, may I never express?”
“Never!” declared Reason.

I groaned under her bitter sternness. Never - never - oh, hard word! This hag, this Reason, would not let me look up, or smile, or hope; she could not rest unless I were altogether crushed, cowed, broken-in, and broken down. According to her, I was born only to work for a piece of bread, to await the pains of death, and steadily through all life to despond. Reason might be right; yet no wonder we are glad at times to defy her, to rush from under her rod and give a truant hour to Imagination - her soft, bright foe, our sweet Help, our divine Hope.

Well had Solomon said,'Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.