Some of your griefs you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of pain you endured,
From evils that never arrived.

What does your anxiety do?   It does not empty to-morrow, brother, of its sorrow;  but ah ! it empties to-day of its strength.

And others, even if they are not in the best places for hearing, give themselves up to the music in sheer enthusiasm – which is the way to the stars, if not to the boxes.

There is no use arguing with the inevitable;  the only argument with an east wind is to put on your overcoat.

…employ yourself in doing good, and mitigating the sorrows of others:  while taking a thorn from the bosom of another, you will lose that which rankles in your own.

The clouds themselves are children of the sun.

It is the lifted face that feels the shining of the sun.

It is usually not so much the greatness of our trouble, as the littleness of our spirit, which makes us complain.