grief quotes
I loved thee once; I'll love no more Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same?
They bore within their breasts the grief That fame can never heal The deep, unutterable woe
There is no passion in the mind of man so weak, but it mates and mastersthefearofdeath. And therefore death is no such terrible enemy, when a man hath so many attendants about him that can win the combat of him. Revenge triumphs over death; love slights it; honour aspireth to it; grief flieth to it.
For inmuchwisdomismuchgrief: and hethat increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.
Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the L revealed? For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him. He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely hehath borne ourgriefs, and carried our sorrows.
Were we to choose our leaders on the basis of their reading experience and not their political programs, there would be much less grief on earth. I believenot empirically, alas, but only theoreticallythat for someone who has read a lot of Dickens to shoot his like in the name of an idea is harder than for someone who has read no Dickens.
Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
Grief is itself a med'cine.
Grief never mended no broken bones, and as good people's wery scarce, what Isays is, makethemost on 'em.
They moved so gently, that their footsteps made no noise; but there were sobs from among the group, and sounds of grief and mourning.
Yes, he thought, between grief and nothing I will take grief.
No man can cause more grief than that one clinging blindly to the vices of his ancestors.
Thetheme defeatsstructuralism, for it isanemotion.The theme of Lord of the Flies isgrief, sheer grief, grief, grief, grief.
In all the silent manliness of grief.
His eyes are quickened so with grief, He can watch a grass or a leaf Every instant grow.
In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce believed, Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.
No worst, there is none.Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
La syme trie, c'est l'ennui, et l'ennui est le fond me" me du deuil. Le de sespoir ba" ille. Symmetry isboredomand boredom isthe foundation of grief. Despair yawns.
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee: Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters, to be wise; There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail.
Sur les ailes duTemps la tristesse s'envole. Grief is carried off by the wings of time.
Yield, ladies, yield to love, ladies, which lurketh under your eyelids whilst you sleep and playeth with your heartstrings whilst you wake, whose sweetness never breedeth satiety, labour weariness, nor grief bitterness.
Ye lovers of the picturesque, if ye wish to drown your grief, Take myadvice, and visit the ancient town of Crieff; The climate is bracing, and the walks lovely to see Besides, ye can ramble over the district, and view the beautiful scenery.
Toil is man's allotment; toil of brain, or toil of hands, or a grief that's more than either, the grief and sin of idleness.
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain! Blind among enemies,O worse than chains, Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age! Light the prime work of God to me is extinct, And all her various objects of delight Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd, Inferior to the vilest now become Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me, They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos'd To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, 586 Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.
It doth repent me: words are quick and vain: Grief for a while is blind, and so was mine. I wish no living thing to suffer pain.
Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year.
Alas! that all we loved of him should be, But for our grief, as if it had not been, And grief itself be mortal!
Fretting grief the enemy of life.
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran.
If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather, Blown fields or flowered closes, Green pleasure or grey grief.
Oh my grief, I've lost him surely. I've lost the only Playboy of the Western World.
I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; The Princess For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain, A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
O that 'twere possible After long grief and pain To find the arms of my true love Round me once again!
Look at me! Look at myarm! I have plowed, and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head meand ar'n't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man (when I could get it), and bear de lash as welland ar'n't I a woman? I have borne thirteenchilernandseen'emmos'allsoldoff intoslavery, and when I cried out with a mother's grief, none but Jesus heardand ar'n't I a woman?
I have heard grief named the eldest child of sin.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony, Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal That grief for which the senses still supply Fresh food.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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