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My saddest and most genuine sorrows are apt to be but transient regrets.
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My saddest and most genuine sorrows are apt to be but transient regrets.
The place of sorrow is supplied, perchance, by a certain hard and proportionately barren indifference.
At death our friends and relations either draw nearer to us and are found out, or depart further from us and are forgotten.
Friends are as often brought nearer together as separated by death.
Surely civilization is old enough, surely mankind is mature enough so that we ought in our own lifetime to find a way to permanent peace.
Sorrow purifies and deepens the soul, and the extremity of sorrow is the prelude to Truth.
Let heart-sickness pass beyond a certain bitter point, and the heart loses its life for ever.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way
But, you see, Jo wasn’t a heroine, she was only a struggling human girl like hundreds of others, and she just acted out her nature, being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the mood suggested.
Feeling this, Jo’s burden seemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and life looked more endurable, seen from the safe shelter of her mother’s arms.
She gave him entire confidence, he gave her the help she needed, and both found consolation in the act.
Beth smiled and felt comforted, for the tiny thing seemed to offer its small friendship and remind her that a pleasant world was still to be enjoyed.
We won’t be miserable, but enjoy being together while we wait. We’ll have happy times, for I don’t suffer much, and I think the tide will go out easily, if you help me.
I am sure we should not shut our hearts against the healing influences that nature offers us.
We resent the thought that anything can please us when someone we love is no longer here to share the pleasure with us, and we almost feel as if we were unfaithful to our sorrow when we find our interest in life returning to us.
I’m not ungrateful--and perhaps--when this horrible ache grows a little less--I’ll find that I can go on living.
The thought that it may stop hurting sometimes hurts me worse than all else, Marilla.
Carlo got very fond of me--and his dog-love helped me through that first dreadful year after mother died, when I was alone.
Death, like birth, is a mystery of nature; the one a compounding of elements, the other a resolution into the same.
For death also is one piece of the business of life, and, here as elsewhere, it is enough to do well what comes to our hand.
Tell over next all those you have known, one after the other: think how one buried his fellow, then lay dead himself, to be buried by a third.
The present moment is the same for all men, and their loss, therefore, is equal, for it is clear that what they lose in death is but a fleeting instant of time.
To the man who is penetrated with true principles, the shortest, the most common hint is a sufficient memorial to keep him free of sorrow and fear.
Grief can take care of itself; but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with.
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