Consolation (n.) from a loving wife — five precautions and "finally thou hast me" — would be enough to make the stones weep, and could only be answered by a deceit: "Yes, my dear, thou hast convinced me."
Consolation (n.) that says “don't take things too seriously” is a wisdom that has ceased to sorrow — a worse despair than the lover's.
Consolation (n.) as men give it would never say “Thou shalt love” to the bereaved — it seems almost mockery to command a man to do the one thing whose impossibility drives him to despair.
Consolation (n.) from the environment first says “it will be the death of her”; when she fails to die, it switches to “he was a scoundrel, forget him” — and life does not follow aesthetic categories.
Consolation (n.) from the aesthete gives the afflicted the only assuagement sorrow yearns for — the expression; he becomes indispensable to them, and soon tires, for they are never indispensable to him.
Consolation (n.) borrowed from another's light-mindedness is a lamentable weakness, and so is terror borrowed from another's heavy-mindedness.
Consolation (n.) from happy people is a way to be rid of the unhappy; it takes a sufferer to comfort others.
Consolation (n.) can be like a magnificent jewel too fine for daily wear: you take it out now and then, and wait in vain for the festal day that would suit it.
Consolation (n.) memorized for times of suffering fails at first: even an apostle is sometimes weak, which shows how dearly such words are bought.
Consolation (n.) is not wiping away tears while the weeping goes on; whoever makes the mourner stop weeping is the one who dries his tears.
Consolation (n.) is the only proof one could give that no one can put himself in one's place; so long as one keeps complaining of it, one is not really clear about it.