No one can keep his grieves in their prime; they use themselves up. – E. M. Cioran
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Grief, Grieving
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When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins, And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie In that vast house, common to serfs and Thanes, I shall not die, I shall not utterly die, For beauty born of beauty– that remains. – Madison Cawein
Mans unhappiness, as I construe, comes of his greatness; it is because there is an Infinite in him, which with all his cunning he cannot quite bury under the Finite. – Thomas Carlyle
In winter-time visions of Spring and Summer are conjured at will by poets… – Helen Rose Anne Milman Crofton, My Kalendar of Country Delights, “Prelude,” 1903