WHERE love is, there comes sorrow
To-day or else to-morrow;
Endure the mood,
Love only means our good.
GENIAL, almost to miracle, is the soil of sorrow; wherein the smallest seed of love, timely falling, becometh a tree, in whose foliage the birds of blessed song lodge and sing unceasingly. And the doubts of God’s goodness, whence are they? Rarely from the weary and overburdened, from those broken in the practical service of grief and toil; but from theoretic students at ease in their closets of meditation, treated themselves most gently by that legislation of the universe which they criticize with a melancholy so profound.
THE more a man loves, the more he suffers. The sum of possible grief for each soul is in proportion to its degree of affection.
Henri F. Amiel