So long as I have been here I have not willingly planted a thorn in any man's bosom.
In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it.
Renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly.
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
Sorrow, the great idealizer.
No memories of felicity save with faint ruffle of sorrow
Sorrow makes an ugly face odious.
Sorrow is tranquility remembered in emotion.
A scented sorrow, corseted!
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