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.]
And as, in ethics, Evil is a consequence of Good, so, in fact, out of Joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are, have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.
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 are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone as well.