The storm of grief bears hard upon his youth, And bends him like a drooping flower to earth.
Child of mortality, whence comest thou? Why is thy countenance sad, and why are thine eyes red with weeping?
Two aged men, that had been foes for life, Met by a grave, and wept – and in those tears They washed away the memory of their strife; Then wept again the loss of all those years.
Tell me, ye winged winds That round my pathway roar, Know ye not some spot Where mortals weep no more?
All created beings are unmanifest in their beginning, manifest in their interim state, and unmanifest again when they are annihilated. So what need is there for lamentation?
Great grief does not of itself put an end to itself.
There is no greater grief than to remember days of joy when misery is at hand.
The person who grieves suffers his passion to grow upon him; he indulges it, he loves it; but this never happens in the case of actual pain, which no man ever willingly endured for any considerable time.
It is dangerous to abandon one’s self to the luxury of grief; it deprives one of courage and even of the wish for recovery.
Grief is natural to the mortal world, and is always about thee; pleasure is a guest, and visiteth thee but by thy invitation; use well thy mind, and sorrow shall be passed behind thee; be prudent, and the visits of joy shall remain long with thee.