I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives a >>
What is past is prologue. >>
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire spar >>
The display of grief makes more demands than grief itself. How few men >>
Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in hi >>
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless. >>
Patch grief with proverbs.