Sorrow (n.) is a place where peace and rest and comfort reside.
Sorrow (n.) that is exactly as ideal as it is real is the most poetic kind — a mother's over her child, a widow's daily requiem.
Sorrow (n.) given any expression, even the most painful, is alleviated compared with having none — to live as if dumb, with sufferings that crave an actor's eloquence.
Sorrow (n.) over an unhappy love cannot be shared by both parties: what fellowship is there between guilt and innocence, between repentance and an aesthetic grief? A girl may yield to a man in much, but never in ethics.
Sorrow (n.) falls to the guilty as the lion's share — or rather so great a share that there remains more than enough for both.
Sorrow (n.) as duty — “thou shalt sorrow” — forbids at once hardening the heart, despairing, and ceasing to sorrow.
Sorrow (n.) over the beloved's imperfections can be hypocritical — wishing him every perfection so as to show him off, and despairing self-importantly over each small fault.
Sorrow (n.) is a castle — as the Englishman says of his house; for many it is one of the conveniences of life.
Sorrow (n.) is the trouble you take in advance and still find waiting behind you.
Sorrow (n.) is deeper and less reflective than pain: ancient tragedy has more sorrow and less pain, modern tragedy more pain and less sorrow.
Sorrow (n.) is a child watching an adult suffer: too unreflective to feel pain or conceive of guilt, yet infinitely deep; the adult watching a child suffer has more pain and less sorrow.
Sorrow (n.) can be a love: Antigone is proud and jealous of hers, carrying it under her heart like a virgin mother — and it gives birth to pain, and is born in pain.
Sorrow (n.) belongs to the past: joy is always present, but sorrow's nature is to pass by, glimpsed only for an instant like a man turning a corner and vanishing.
Sorrow (n.) kept secret may live an eternal life behind a stony exterior, as blasted rocks are said to contain a living animal that survived there for centuries.
Sorrow (n.) wears off just as joy does — and if it comforts many that sorrow wears off, that thought is just as comfortless as the observation that joy wears off.
Sorrow (n.) is preferred to joy by the modern age partly because joy imposes an obligation to be thankful, and sorrow exempts one — so vanity is all the more content.
Sorrow (n.) is what our age, not believing in joy, believes in instead, to have something to believe in.
Sorrow (n.) as a life view is despair just as joy is: joy can take the mourner by surprise, and time devours the children of time.
Sorrow (n.) that is kept need not be taken out and looked at daily; what one treasures most one deposits where one does not go every day.
Sorrow (n.) can bear witness: the man who cannot realize the universal says, 'If others bear witness to it by realizing it, I bear witness to it by my sorrow' — and that sorrow reconciles him with it.