The leaves fall patiently Nothing remembers or grieves The river takes to the sea The yellow drift of leaves.
The stripped and shapely Maple grieves The ghosts of her Departed leaves. The ground is hard, As hard as stone. The year is old, The birds are flown.
I ask you to try something. If someone grieves you, or dishonors you, or takes something of yours, then pray like this: "Lord, we are all your creatures. Pity your servants, and turn them to repentance," and then you will perceptibly bear grace in your soul. Induce your heart to love your enemies, and the Lord, seeing your good will, shall help you in all things, and will Himself show you experience. But whoever thinks evil of his enemies does not have love for God and has not known God.
I just love the fact that that's the way life is. When something horrible happens, you do find yourself laughing in weird places in the midst of grief and crying in the supermarket when you see a cereal that somebody used to eat. There's just no way of guarding yourself one way or another. Everybody grieves differently, and there's no right or wrong way.
Our trials, our sorrows, and our grieves develop us.
He who know most grieves most for wasted time.
He grieves more than is necessary who grieves before any cause for sorrow has arisen.
She grieves sincerely who grieves unseen.
It grieves me when I see a priest or a nun with the latest model car.
It grieves us to produce work that is not perfect.
One smile relieves a heart that grieves.
Envy grieves. Jealousy rages.
In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves.
He that falls into sin is a man; that grieves at it, is a saint; that boasteth of it, is a devil.
A Christian's wit is offensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight; Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth.
It makes one hope and believe that a day will come when, in the eye of the law, literary property will be as sacred as whiskey, or any other of the necessaries of life. It grieves me to think how far more profound and reverent a respect the law would have for literature if a body could only get drunk on it.
The dominant and most deep-dyed trait of the journalist is his timorousness. Where the novelist fearlessly plunges into the water of self-exposure, the journalist stands trembling on the shore in his beach robe. The journalist confines himself to the clean, gentlemanly work of exposing the grieves and shames of others.
Sorrow's child grieves not what has passed, but all the past still yet to come.
The joys of parents are secret, and so are their grieves and fears.
