Weaklings must lie. >>
Like a morning dream, life becomes more and more bright the longer we >>
Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out. >>
A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times. >>
Sorrow is the rust of the soul and activity will cleanse and brighten >>
And almost everyone when age, disease, or sorrows strike him, inclines >>
Sorrows are like thunderclouds, in the distance they look black, over our heads scarcely gray.