There is sorrow in the world, but goodness too; and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more than sorrow is.
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.
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 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.
The gods themselves are not for ever glad. The ineffaceable, sad birth-mark in the brow of man, is but the stamp of sorrow in the signers.