The heart forgets its sorrow and ache.

Who's not sat tense before his own heart's curtain.

He was a great kid. My heart just aches. My heart aches for the family, and aches for him. In my prayers I'm asking, 'OK, Lord, I don't understand this one.' Sometimes there is no answer for that.

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, / That never mused on sorrow but its own.

All kin' o' smily round the lips, / An' teary round the lashes.

Wealth may be an excellent thing, for it means power, and it means leisure, it means liberty.