There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Grief is the agony of an instant, the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.

Grief makes one hour ten.

The only cure for grief is action.

Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy must have somebody to divide it with.

To spare oneself from grief at all costs can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

Given a choice between grief and nothing, I’d choose grief.

Grief drives men to serious reflection, sharpens the understanding and softens the heart.

It is light grief that can take counsel.

Waste not fresh tears over old griefs.

Grief hallows hearts, even while it ages heads.

Grief teaches the steadiest minds to waver.

The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.

My grief lies all within, and these external manners of lament are merely shadows to the unseen grief that swells with silence in the tortured soul.

While grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates. You must wait till it be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.

Tearless grief bleeds inwardly.

If you suppress grief too much, it can well redouble.

While grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates. You must wait till it be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.

The hardest part of faith is the last hour.

No man/woman is worth your tears and the one that is won’t make you cry.

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.

He that conceals his grief finds no remedy for it.

Grief alone can teach us what is man.

Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.

Grief is a species of idleness.

What’s gone and what’s past help Should be past grief.

Those things that hurt, instruct.

One joy shatters a hundred griefs.

A heavier task could not have been imposed than I to speak my griefs unspeakable.

Tears are the silent language of grief.

It is foolish to tear one’s hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness.

Every evening I turn my worries over to God. He’s going to be up all night anyway.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.