When the heart grieves over what is has lost, the spirit rejoices over what it has left.

When the heart grieves over what is has lost, the spirit rejoices over what it has left.

Thinking is more stinking than drinking, but to feel is for real.

Eleanor went to her room "where she was free to think and be wretched.

What right have I to grieve, who have not ceased to wonder?

Nothing becomes so offensive so quickly as grief. When fresh it finds someone to console it, but when it becomes chronic, it is ridiculed, and rightly.