I cherish my privacy, and woe betide anyone who tries to interfere with that.
Not suffering, but faint heart, is worst of woes.
Should God create another Eve, and I Another Rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart; no no, I feel The Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh, Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
Woe to those who lead idle lives. Idleness is a dreadful illness and must be cured in childhood. If it is not cured then, it can never be cured.
Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair,Or but as mild as she is seeming so,Then were my hopes greater than my despair,Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe.
Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.
Woe to the man who offends a small child!
But woe to him, who left to moan, Reviews the hours of brightness gone.
Woe is me! The winged words on which my soul would pierce Into the heights of love's rare universe, Are chains of lead around its flight of fire-- I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire.
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.
Lord of himself; that heritage of woe!
If, as you believe there is an Almighty, Omnipresent, Omniscient God, who created the earth or universe, please let me know, first of all, as to why he created this world. This world which is full of woe and grief, and countless miseries, where not even one person lives in peace. . . . Where is God? What is He doing? Is He getting a diseased pleasure out of it? A Nero! A Genghis Khan! Down with Him!
Child of woe is wane and delicate. . . sensitive and on the quiet side, she loves the picnics and outings to the underground caverns. . . a solemn child, prim in dress and, on the whole, pretty lost. . . secretive and imaginative, poetic, seems underprivileged and given to occasional tantrums. . . has six toes on one foot.
Woes and wonders of Power, that tonic hell, synthesis of poison and panacea.
Woe to him whose beliefs play fast and loose with the order which realities follow in his experience; they will lead him nowhere or else make false connections
Woe to him who neglects to recommend himself to Mary, and thus closes the channel of grace!
Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others, is a just criterion of goodness; and whatever injures society at large, or any individual in it, is a criterion of iniquity.
Too oft is transient pleasure the source of long woes
Woe to that nation whose literature is cut short by the intrusion of force. This is not merely interference with freedom of the press but the sealing up of a nation's heart, the excision of its memory.
Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel.