In a sense, and as in melodrama, killing yourself amounts to confessing. It is confessing that life is too much for you or that you do not understand it.
To learn that we have said or done a stupid thing is nothing, we must learn a more ample and important lesson: that we are but blockheads.
We are all more intelligent than we are capable, and awareness of the insanity of love has never saved anyone from the disease.
All men are made one for another: either then teach them better, or bear with them. – LVI, The Eighth Book.
So many black families spend all of their time trying to fix the problems of the past. That is the curse of being black and poor, and it is a curse that follows you from generation to generation. My mother calls it “the black tax”.