Quotations About / On:
For now indeed is the race of iron; and men never cease from labour and sorrow by day and from perishing by night.
(Hesiod (c. 8th century B.C.), Greek didactic poet. Works and Days, 176-178.)
It seldom happens that any felicity comes so pure as not to be tempered and allayed by some mixture of sorrow.
(Miguel De Cervantes (1547-1616), Spanish writer. the slave, in Don Quixote, pt. 1, bk. 4, ch. 14, trans. by P. Motteux (1605).)
Prostitutes have very improperly been styled women of pleasure; they are women of pain, or sorrow, of grief, of bitter and continual repentance, without a hope of obtaining a pardon.
(Anonymous, U.S. women's magazine contributor. Weekly Visitor or Ladies Miscellany, p. 85 (January 1804).)
Nothing endears so much a friend as sorrow for his death. The pleasure of his company has not so powerful an influence.
(David Hume (1711-1776), Scottish philosopher. "Of Tragedy," part I, essay XXII, p. 222, Essays Moral, Political, and Literary, ed. Eugene F. Miller, revised edition, Indianapolis, Liberty Fund, Inc. (1987).)
Whoever, fleeing marriage and the sorrows that women cause, does not wish to wed comes to a deadly old age.
(Hesiod (c. 8th century B.C.), Greek didactic poet. Theogony, 603.)
But whoever gives birth to useless children, what would you say of him except that he has bred sorrows for himself, and furnishes laughter for his enemies.
(Sophocles (497-406/5 B.C.), Greek tragedian. Antigone, l. 645.)
It is one of the prodigious privileges of art that the horrific, artistically expressed, becomes beauty, and that sorrow, given rhythm and cadence, fills the spirit with a calm joy.
(Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. "Théophile Gautier," part IV (1859).)
There is no wisdom in useless and hopeless sorrow, but there is something in it so like virtue, that he who is wholly without it cannot be loved.
(Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), British author, lexicographer. Letter, April 12, 1781, to Hester Thrale. The Letters of Samuel Johnson, vol. 2, no. 722, ed. R.W. Chapman (1952).)
That mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be truenot true, or undeveloped.
(Herman Melville (1819-1891), U.S. author. Moby-Dick (1851), ch. 96, The Writings of Herman Melville, vol. 6, eds. Harrison Hayford, Hershel Parker, and G. Thomas Tanselle (1988).)
We who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments.
(Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), Anglo-Irish playwright, author. De Profundis (1905).
Wilde himself spent two years in prison.)