sorrow

There are as many forms of happiness as sorrow, though most prove fleeting.

Sorrow happens, hardship happens, the hell with it, who never knew the price of happiness, will not be happy.

For the poison of hatred seated near the heart doubles the burden for the one who suffers the disease; he is burdened with his own sorrow, and groans on seeing another's happiness.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.

I've always been able to transform happiness and pain and sorrow and tears into positive energy.

Poetry comes from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow.

There's no such thing as old age, there is only sorrow.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;Thy fate is the common fate of all,Into each life some rain must fall

It is the youth who must inherit the tribulation, the sorrow... that are the aftermath of war.

Humor reminds you, when you're flattened by sorrow, that you're still human.

The secret source of humor is not joy but sorrow there is no humor in Heaven.

Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.

Mankind is like dogs, not gods - as long as you don't get mad they'll bite you - but stay mad and you'll never be bitten. Dogs don't respect humility and sorrow.

If for instance the sentiment possessing for the moment the empire of our mind is sorrow, will not the genius sharpen the sorrow and the sorrow purify the genius? Together, will they not be like a cut diamond for which language is only the wax on which they stamp their imprint? I believe that genius, thus awakened, has no need to seek out details, that it scarcely pauses to reflect, that it never thinks of unity: I believe that the details come naturally without search by the poet, that inspiration takes the place of reflection and as for unity, I think there is no unity so perfect as that which results from a heart filled with a single idea...The nature of genius is related to that of instinct; it's operation is both simple and marvelous.

Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms you would never see the true beauty of their carvings.

Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.

While grief is fresh every attempt to divert it only irritates.

One cannot weep for the entire world. It is beyond human strength. One must choose.