There would be far less suffering amongst mankind, if men—and God knows why they are so fashioned—did not employ their imaginations so assiduously in recalling the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with equanimity.
There is sorrow in the world, but goodness too; and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more than sorrow is.
There is a strange charm in the thoughts of a good legacy, or the hopes of an estate, which wondrously alleviates the sorrow that men would otherwise feel for the death of friends.
Pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy.[Но чистая, полная печаль также невозможна, как чистая и полная радость.]
You know, when you’re feeling very sad, sunsets are wonderful…[translation by Richard Howard]You know-one loves the sunset, when one is so sad…[translation by Katherine Woods][Tu sais… quand on est tellement triste on aime les couchers de soleil…]
When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever.
These bitter sorrows of childhood! when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.