Colleen McCullough. The thorn birds (№ 5878)

Each of us has something, even cry, even cry, and with this can not cope. We are as it is and there is nothing you can do about it. Like a bird in the old Celtic legend: catches chest on thorn a thorn, and with pierced heart comes a song and dies. She can't help it, this was her destiny. Let us know what fall know even before he made the first move, but consciousness is still nothing can stop, nothing can change. Everyone sings his song and I am sure that had the world never heard anything more beautiful. We create for herself the thorns and do not even think what it'll cost us. And then only remains to be patient and to assure ourselves that we suffer not in vain.