Oh! grief is fantastic; it weaves a web on which to trace the history of its woe from every form and change around; it incorporates itself with all living nature; it finds sustenance in every object; as light, it fills all things, and, like light, it gives its own colors to all.
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"The companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain."
"The human senses are imperfect. They cannot bear the light of truth."
"We are not formed for enjoyment; and, however we may be attuned to the reception of pleasurable emotion, disappointment is the never-failing pilot of our life's bark, and ruthlessly carries us on to t…"
"I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend."
"Dreams are but the reflections of our waking hours."
The Last Man, a poetic and profound description of the pervasive nature of grief.
Date: 1826
PhilosophicalFound in 1 providers: gemini
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