This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
Molière, pen name of Jean Baptiste Poquelin NULL
If you suppress grief too much it can well redouble.
Grief |
Napoleon Bonaparte, Napoleon I
This soldier, I realized, must have had friends at home and in his regiment; yet he lay there deserted by all except his dog. I looked on, unmoved, at battles which decided the future of nations. Tearless, I had given orders which brought death to thousands. Yet here I was stirred, profoundly stirred, stirred to tears. And by what? By the grief of one dog.
Niccolò Machiavelli, formally Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli
The fact is that a man who wants to act virtuously in every way necessarily comes to grief among so many who are not virtuous.
Nikolai Gogol, fully Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol or Nikolay Vasilyevich Gogol
What grief is not taken away by time? What passion will survive an unequal battle with it? I knew a man in the bloom of his still youthful powers, filled with true nobility and virtue, I knew him when he was in love, tenderly, passionately, furiously, boldly, modestly, and before me, almost before my eyes, the object of his passion - tender, beautiful as an angel - was struck down by insatiable death. I never saw such terrible fits of inner suffering, such furious scorching anguish, such devouring despair as shook the unfortunate lover. I never thought a man could create such a hell for himself, in which there would be no shadow, no image, nothing in the least resembling hope
Battle | Despair | Grief | Hell | Man | Nobility | Nothing | Object | Passion | Thought | Will | Thought |
Paramahansa Yogananda, born Mukunda Lal Ghosh
The wise do not indulge in grief for things that are inevitably changeable and evanescent. Those who always weep and complain that life is filled with bitter things reveal the narrowness of their minds. In God's consciousness, all worldly things are trifles, because they are not eternal.
Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield
Man is more himself, man is more manlike, when joy is the fundamental thing in him, and grief the superficial.
Rosamunde Pilcher, also pen name Jane Fraser
She remembered him smiling, and realized that time, that great old healer, had finally accomplished its work, and now, across the years, the face of love no longer stirred up agonies of grief and bitterness. Rather, one was left feeling simply grateful. For how unimaginably empty the past would be without him to remember.
Rainer Maria Rilke, full name René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke
And my great grief cry will happen to you.
Rainer Maria Rilke, full name René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke
In the end, those who were carried off early no longer need us: they are weaned from earth's sorrows and joys, and as gently as children outgrow the soft breasts of their mothers. But we, who do need such great mysteries, we for whom grief is so often the source of our spirit's growth
Depend upon it, a man never experiences such pleasure or grief after fourteen years as he does before, unless in some cases, in his first lovemaking, when the sensation is new to him.
Richard L. Evans, fully Richard Louis Evans
Perhaps most of us feel that we could accept death for ourselves and for those we love if it did not often seem to come with such untimeliness. But we rebel when it so little considers our wishes or our readiness. But we may well ask ourselves when would we be willing to part with or to part from those we love? And who is there among us whose judgment we would trust to measure out our lives? Such decisions would be terrible for mere men to make. But fortunately we are spared making them; fortunately they are made by wisdom higher than ours. And when death makes its visitations among us, inconsolable grief and rebellious bitterness should have no place. There must be no quarrel with irrevocable facts. Even when death comes by events which seem unnecessary and avoidable. We must learn to accept what we cannot help.
Bitterness | Death | Events | Grief | Judgment | Little | Love | Men | Trust | Wisdom | Wishes | Learn |
Richard L. Evans, fully Richard Louis Evans
Indeed, the greatest blessing that can follow the death of those we love is reconciliation. Without it there is no peace. But with it come quiet thoughts and quickened memories. And what else shall a man do except become reconciled? What purpose does he serve by fighting what he cannot touch or by brooding upon what he cannot change? We have to trust the Lord God for so many things, and it is but one thing more to trust him in the issues of life and death, and to accept the fact that his plans and promises and purposes transcend the bounds of this world and of this life. With such faith the years are kind, and peace and reconciliation do come to those who have laid to rest their loved ones - who, even in death, are not far removed from us, and of whom our Father in heaven will be mindful until we meet again even as we are mindful of our own children. Bitter grief without reconciliation serves no good purpose. Death comes to all of us, but so does life everlasting.
Death | Faith | Father | Fighting | God | Good | Grief | Heaven | Life | Life | Lord | Love | Man | Peace | Purpose | Purpose | Quiet | Reconciliation | Rest | Trust | Will | World | God |
I was very surprised to find out, as my poems pick up more and more of the past of human beings, the ancient culture, more and more of the grief and the suffering of human beings
Robert Southwell, also Saint Robert Southwell
A VALE OF TEARS - A vale there is, enwrapt with dreadful shades, Which thick of mourning pines shrouds from the sun, Where hanging cliffs yield short and dumpish glades, And snowy flood with broken streams doth run. Where eye-room is from rock to cloudy sky, From thence to dales with stony ruins strew'd, Then to the crushèd water's frothy fry, Which tumbleth from the tops where snow is thaw'd. Where ears of other sound can have no choice, But various blust'ring of the stubborn wind In trees, in caves, in straits with divers noise; Which now doth hiss, now howl, now roar by kind. Where waters wrestle with encount'ring stones, That break their streams, and turn them into foam, The hollow clouds full fraught with thund'ring groans, With hideous thumps discharge their pregnant womb. And in the horror of this fearful quire Consists the music of this doleful place; All pleasant birds from thence their tunes retire, Where none but heavy notes have any grace. Resort there is of none but pilgrim wights, That pass with trembling foot and panting heart; With terror cast in cold and shivering frights, They judge the place to terror framed by art. Yet nature's work it is, of art untouch'd, So strait indeed, so vast unto the eye, With such disorder'd order strangely couch'd, And with such pleasing horror low and high, That who it views must needs remain aghast, Much at the work, more at the Maker's might; And muse how nature such a plot could cast Where nothing seemeth wrong, yet nothing right. A place for mated mindes, an only bower Where everything do soothe a dumpish mood; Earth lies forlorn, the cloudy sky doth lower, The wind here weeps, here sighs, here cries aloud. The struggling flood between the marble groans, Then roaring beats upon the craggy sides; A little off, amidst the pebble stones, With bubbling streams and purling noise it glides. The pines thick set, high grown and ever green, Still clothe the place with sad and mourning veil; Here gaping cliff, there mossy plain is seen, Here hope doth spring, and there again doth quail. Huge massy stones that hang by tickle stays, Still threaten fall, and seem to hang in fear; Some wither'd trees, ashamed of their decays, Bereft of green are forced gray coats to wear. Here crystal springs crept out of secret vein, Straight find some envious hole that hides their grace; Here searèd tufts lament the want of rain, There thunder-wrack gives terror to the place. All pangs and heavy passions here may find A thousand motives suiting to their griefs, To feed the sorrows of their troubled mind, And chase away dame Pleasure's vain reliefs. To plaining thoughts this vale a rest may be, To which from worldly joys they may retire; Where sorrow springs from water, stone and tree; Where everything with mourners doth conspire. Sit here, my soul, main streams of tears afloat, Here all thy sinful foils alone recount; Of solemn tunes make thou the doleful note, That, by thy ditties, dolour may amount. When echo shall repeat thy painful cries, Think that the very stones thy sins bewray, And now accuse thee with their sad replies, As heaven and earth shall in the latter day. Let former faults be fuel of thy fire, For grief in limbeck of thy heart to still Thy pensive thoughts and dumps of thy desire, And vapour tears up to thy eyes at will. Let tears to tunes, and pains to plaints be press'd, And let this be the burden of thy song,— Come, deep remorse, possess my sinful breast; Delights, adieu! I harbour'd you too long.
Art | Earth | Grief | Heart | Heaven | Hope | Little | Motives | Mourning | Music | Nature | Noise | Nothing | Order | Rest | Sorrow | Sound | Tears | Terror | Work | Art | Think |
But little Mouse, you are not alone, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes of mice and men Go often askew, And leave us nothing but grief and pain, For promised joy! Still you are blest, compared with me!
Salomon ibn Gabirol, aka Solomon ben Judah or Avicebron
I have made Thee my refuge, my terror and trembling, And when straitly besieged I have made Thee my tower, When to left and to right I have sought for a helper, I could look for dear life to no aid but Thy power. More than all earthly treasure I have made Thee my portion, Through all cares the delight and desire of my days, In the flood of Thy love I have rapture eternal And prayer is but an occasion for praise.
Grief | Heart | Joy | Kindness | Light | Praise | Service | Spirit | Thought | Will | Thought |
Samuel ha-Nagid, born Samuel ibn Naghrela or Naghrillah
Build me up like a tower on the heights of your sanctuary, And set me like a seal upon your heart. Make me drunk with the blood of the foe on the day of war And satisfy me with his flesh on the night of redemption. Place the cup of salvation upon my right hand That my tongue may give voice in joy to a song of love. For nearly a thousand years I have declared my sorrow With many tears and with fasting,—will You not answer me?
Day | God | Grave | Grief | Heart | Peace | Rest | Spirit | Traitor | Will | Loss | God |