MALCOLM: Be comforted.
Let’s make us med’cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.MACDUFF: He has no children. All my pretty ones?
Did you say “all”? O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?MALCOLM: Dispute it like a man.
MACDUFF: I shall do so,
But I must also feel it as a man.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Macbeth, Act 4, sc. 3, l. 252ff (4.3.252-261) (1606)
(Source)
Macduff, learning his family and household have been killed on Macbeth's orders.
Quotations about:
grief
Note not all quotations have been tagged, so Search may find additional quotes on this topic.
The gods either have power or they have not. If they have not, why pray to them? If they have, then instead of praying to be granted or spared such-and-such a thing, why not rather pray to be delivered from dreading it, or lusting for it, or grieving over it? Clearly, if they can help a man at all, they can help him in this way.
[Ἤτοι οὐδὲν δύνανται οἱ θεοὶ ἢ δύνανται. εἰ μὲν οὖν μὴ δύνανται, τί εὔχῃ; εἰ δὲ δύνανται, διὰ τί οὐχὶ μᾶλλον εὔχῃ. διδόναι αὐτοὺς τὸ μήτε φοβεῖσθαί τι τούτων μήτε ἐπιθυμεῖν τινος τούτων μήτε λυπεῖσθαι ἐπί τινι τούτων, μᾶλλον ἤπερ τὸ μὴ παρεῖναί τι τούτων ἢ τὸ παρεῖναι; πάντως γάρ, εἰ δύνανται συνεργεῖν ἀνθρώποις, καὶ εἰς ταῦτα δύνανται συνεργεῖν.]
Marcus Aurelius (AD 121-180) Roman emperor (161-180), Stoic philosopher
Meditations [To Himself; Τὰ εἰς ἑαυτόν], Book 9, ch. 40 (9.40) (AD 161-180) [tr. Staniforth (1964)]
(Source)
(Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:Either the Gods can do nothing for us at all, or they can still and allay all the distractions and distempers of thy mind. If they can do nothing, why doest thou pray? If they can, why wouldst not thou rather pray, that they will grant unto thee, that thou mayst neither fear, nor lust after any of those worldly things which cause these distractions and distempers of it? Why not rather, that thou mayst not at either their absence or presence, be grieved and discontented: than either that thou mayst obtain them, or that thou mayst avoid them? For certainly it must needs be, that if the Gods can help us in anything, they may in this kind also.
[tr. Casaubon (1634)]Either the Gods have power to assist us, or they have not. If they have not, what does praying to them signifie? If they have, why don't you rather pray that they would Discharge your Desires, than Satisfie them; and rather set you above the Passion of Fear, than keep away the Thing you are afraid of? For if the Gods can help us, no doubt they can help us to be Wiser.
[tr. Collier (1701), 9.42]Either the Gods have no power at all [to aid men in any thing;] or they have power. If, then, they have no power, why do you pray? But if they have power, why don’t you chuse to pray to them to enable you, neither to fear any of these things, [which are not in our own power] nor desire any of them, nor be grieved about any of them; rather than for the having them, or the not having them. For, most certainly, if they can aid men at all, they can also aid them in this.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]Either the Gods have power to assist mankind, or they have not. If they have not, why do you pray to them? If they have that power, why do you not rather pray, "that they would enable you neither to fear nor to desire any thing; nor to be more grieved fro the want, than for the possession of it?" For, certainly, if they have the power to co-operate with the endeavours of men, they can do it in this respect.
[tr. Graves (1792)]Either the gods have no power or they have power. If, then, they have no power, why dost thou pray to them? But if they have power, why dost thou not pray for them to give thee the faculty of not fearing any of the things which thou fearest, or of not desiring any of the things which thou desirest, or not being pained at anything, rather than pray that any of these things should not happen or happen? for certainly if they can co-operate with men, they can co-operate for these purposes.
[tr. Long (1862)]Either the gods have power to assist us, or they have not. If they have not, what does praying to them help you? If they have, why do you not rather pray that they would remove your fears and moderate your desires, and rather keep you from grieving for any of these things, than keep away one thing and grant another? For if the gods can help us, no doubt they can help us to be wiser.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]The gods either have power, or they have not. If they have not, why pray at all? If they have, why not pray for deliverance from teh fear, or the desire, or the pain, which the thing causes, rather than for the withholding or the giving of the particular thing? Assuredly, if they can help men at all, this is the way of help.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]Either the Gods have power or they have none. If they have no power, why do you pray? If they have power, why do you not choose to pray to them for power neither to fear, nor to desire, nor to be grieved over any of these external things, rather than for their presence or their absence? Surely, if the Gods can aid man at all, they can aid him in this.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]Either the Gods have no power or they have power. If they have no power, why pray to them? But if they have power, why not rather pray that they should give thee freedom from fear of any of these things and from lust for any of these things and from grief at any of these things [rather] than that they should grant this or refuse that. For obviously if they can assist men at all, they can assist them in this.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]The gods are either powerless or powerful. If then they are powerless, why do you pray? But if they are powerful, why not rather pray them for the gift to fear none of these things, to desire none of them, to sorrow for none of them, rather than that any one of them should be present or absent? For surely if they can co-operate with man, they can co-operate to these ends.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]The gods either lack power or they have power. If they are powerless, why do you pray to them? But if they have power, why do you not pray to them to grant you the ability neither to fear any of these things nor to desire them, nor to be distressed by them, rather than praying that some of them should fall to you and others not? For surely, if the gods have any power to help human beings, they can help them in this.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed.)]Either the gods have power or they don't. If they don't, why pray? If they do, then why not pray for something else instead of for things to happen or not to happen? Pray not to feel fear. Or desire. Or grief. If they gods can do anything, they can surely do that for us.
[tr. Hays (2003)]Either the gods have power or they do not. Now, if they have no power, why pray? If they do have power, why not pray for their gift of freedom from all worldly fear, desire, or regret, rather than for the presence or absence of this or that? Certainly, if the gods can cooperate with men, they can cooperate to these ends.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]Either the gods have power or they do not. If they do not, why do you pray? But if they do have power, why aren't you praying that they give you the power not to fear, crave, or be troubled by a thing, rather than pryaing to have that thing or not have it? For if the gods can work with us, then surely they can work with us toward this end.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]The gods either lack power or they have power. Now if they are powerless, why do you pray to them? But if they have poer, why do you not pray to them to gran you the ability neither to fear any of these things nor to desire them, nor to be distressed by them, rather than praying that some of them should fall to you and others not? For surely, if the gods have any power to help human beings, they can help them in this.
[tr. Hard (2011 ed.)]
KING RICHARD: You may my glories and my state depose
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard II, Act 4, sc. 1, l. 201ff (4.1.201-202) (1595)
(Source)
When Bolingbroke questions Richard's willingness to abdicate while grieving over the loss.
CHORUS:But why
Be sure of the worst, and weep too soon?[ΧΟΡΟΣ: μὴ πρόμαντις ἀλγέων
προλάμβαν᾽, ὦ φίλα, γόους.]Euripides (485?-406? BC) Greek tragic dramatist
Helen [Ἑλένη], l. 338ff (412 BC) [tr. Vellacott (1954)]
(Source)
Counseling Helen not to catastrophize about her fate or that of her husband until she has talked with the prophetess Theonoë.
(Source (Greek)). Other translations:Do not, dear lady, do not thus, in thought
Presaging ill, anticipate thy griefs.
[tr. Potter (1783), l. 370ff]Forbear these plaintive strains, my dearest queen,
Nor with presaging soul anticipate
Evils to come.
[tr. Wodhull (1809)]Do not, O dear one, anticipate lamentations like a prophetess of woes.
[tr. Buckley (1850)]Do not be a prophetess of sorrow, dear friend, anticipating lamentation.
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]Nay, forestall not, O friend, lamentation
Prophetic of grief.
[tr. Way (Loeb) (1912)]Lady, till the truth appear,
Gentle lady, grieve not so.
Weep not till you know.
[tr. Sheppard (1925)]Do not anticipate your grief,
dear lady, do not cry before you know.
[tr. Warner (1951)]Do not be prophetic of grief.
Do not, dear, anticipate sorrow.
[tr. Lattimore (1956)]Dear lady, do not prophesy sorrow yet nor weep too soon!
[tr. Davie (2002)]Dear mistress mine, be not a prophetess of sorrow, forestalling lamentation.
[tr. Athenian Society (2006)]Wait till you're certain, don't jump to conclusions.
[tr. A. Wilson (2007)]Why prophesy grief, Helen?
Why cry before you have to?
[tr. Theodoridis (2011)]As a prophetess of woe
do not, my dear, lament too soon.
[tr. Ambrose et al. (2018)]Do not be a prophetess of sorrow, dear friend [phila], anticipating lamentation.
[tr. Coleridge / Helen Heroization Team]
GAUNT: What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
BOLINGBROKE: To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard II, Act 1, sc. 3, l. 266ff (1.3.266-267) (1595)
(Source)
Man is subject to innumerable pains and sorrows by the very condition of humanity, and yet, as if nature had not sown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief, and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another.
Joseph Addison (1672-1719) English essayist, poet, statesman
Essay (1711-09-13), The Spectator, No. 169
(Source)
No one dies but some one is glad of it.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802-1838) English poet and novelist [a/k/a L.E.L.]
Lady Anne Granard, ch. 1 (1842)
(Source)
Opening words.
Our doings are not so important as we naturally suppose; our successes and failures do not after all matter very much. Even great sorrows can be survived; troubles which seem as if they must put an end to happiness for life, fade with the lapse of time until it becomes almost impossible to remember their poignancy. But over and above these self-centered considerations is the fact that one’s ego is no very large part of the world. The man who can center his thoughts and hopes upon something transcending self can find a certain peace in the ordinary troubles of life which is impossible to the pure egoist.
Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) English mathematician and philosopher
Conquest of Happiness, Part 1, ch. 5 “Fatigue” (1930)
(Source)
The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear, beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is the rainbow — Hope shining upon the tears of grief.
Grief often inspires other odd emotions, and pettiness — the jealous assertion of one’s own claims as a mourner — is one of the commonest.
“Why linger here, my soul?
The torments you will have to suffer here
Upon this earth which even now you hate,
Weigh heavily upon my fearful mind.”
Then calling upon death,
As I would call on lovely, soothing peace,
I say: “Come to me,” with such yearning love
That I am jealous of whoever dies.[«Anima mia, ché non ten vai?
ché li tormenti che tu porterai
nel secol, che t’è già tanto noioso,
mi fan pensoso di paura forte».
Ond’io chiamo la Morte,
come soave e dolce mio riposo;
e dico «Vieni a me» con tanto amore,
che sono astioso di chiunque more.]Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet
La Vita Nuova [Vita Nova; New Life], ch. 33 (c. 1294, pub. 1576) [tr. Musa (1971)]
(Source)
Mourning the death of Beatrice, from the perspective of one of her kinsmen, his friend.
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:My soul, why longer stay?
For all the torments which thou shalt endure
In this sad world, to thee so painful grown,
Fill me with thought and fear of ills to come,
Wherefore I call for death,
As for a sweet and tranquil state of rest,
And say, O come to me! with love so true,
That I am envious of whoever dies.
[tr. Lyell (1845), Ballata 4]Soul of mine, why stayest thou?
Truly the anguish, Soul, that we must bow
Beneath, until we win out of this life,
Gives me full oft a fear that trembleth:
So that I call on Death
Even as on Sleep one calleth after strife,
Saying, Come unto me. Life showeth grim
And bare; and if one dies, I envy him.
[tr. Rossetti (c. 1847; 1899 ed.)]I cry -- "Oh, why, my soul, no longer stay?"
For lo, the pangs which thou shalt bear alway,
In this vile world, to thee so full of woes.
Fill me with fears, and sadden all my breath!
Then do I call on Death
To lap me in his soft and sweet repose,
And say," Oh, come to me!" with love so deep.
That I, when others die, with envy weep.
[tr. Martin (1862)]I say, “My soul, why goest thou not away,
Seeing the torments thou wilt have to bear,
In this world so molestful now to thee,
Make me foreboding with a heavy fear?”
And therefore upon Death
I call, as to my sweet and soft repose,
And say, “Come thou to me,” with such desire
That I am envious of whoever dies.
[tr. Norton (1867), ch. 34]"My soul, why dost thou not depart from me?
The torments which perforce will burden thee
Here in the world which hateful to thee grows
My mind with fearful apprehension fill."
To Death then I appeal
As to a sweet, benecent repose:
"Come now to me," with so much love I cry
That I am envious of all who die.
[tr. Reynolds (1969), ch. 33]"Why linger here, my soul? The torments you will be subjected to in this life which already you detest, weigh heavily upon my fearful mind."
Then calling upon Death, as I would call on lovely, soothing Peace, I say with yearning love: "Please come to me." And I am jealous of whoever dies.
[tr. Hollander (1997), ch. 33, sec. 5-6]‘My spirit, why do you not go,
since the torments you suffer
in this world, which grows so hateful to you,
bring such great thoughts of dread?’
Then I call on Death,
as to a sweet and gentle refuge:
and I say: ‘Come to me’ with such love,
that I am envious of all who die.
[tr. Kline (2002)]"My soul, why do you not depart?
For the torments you will undergo
in this life, which is already so burdensome to you,
make me think strongly of fear."
So that I call upon Death
as a sweet, gentle repose for me,
and I say "Come to me" so lovingly
that I begrudge whoever dies.
[tr. Appelbaum (2006), ch. 33]I say, “My soul, why don’t you go away?
because the torments that you’ll bear to stay
in this world (for you, already martyrdom),
have made me numb with fear and fretful breath.”
And then I call for Death,
so mild and sweet a moratorium:
“Now, come,” I beg (so amorously said,
that I feel bitter envy for the dead).
[tr. Frisardi (2012), ch. 22]
To mourn is to pity oneself. The dead feel nothing. The mourner does not pity the dead. He pities himself for having lost the living.
Walter M. Miller Jr. (1923-1996) American writer
“The Soul-Empty Ones,” Astounding Science Fiction (1951-08)
(Source)
Across wide lands, across a wider sea,
To this sad service. Brother, am I bourn
To pay thee death’s last tribute and to mourn
By thy dead dust that cannot answer me.
This, this alone is left — ah, can it be
Thy living self blind chance from me has torn.
That cruel death has left me thus forlorn.
And thou so loved, dear Brother, lost to me?
Still, must I bring, as men have done for years,
These last despairing rites, this solemn vow.
Here offered with a love too deep to tell,
And consecrated with a brother’s tears.
Accept them, Brother all is done — and now
Forever hail, forever fare thee well.[Multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus
Advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias,
Ut te postremo donarem munere mortis
Et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem.
Quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum,
Heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi,
Nunc tamen interea haec prisco quae more parentum
Tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,
Accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,
Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 101 “At His Brother’s Grave” [tr. Stewart (1915)]
(Source)
This is one of several poems he wrote about his beloved brother, written while journeying home from Bithynia after serving under C. Memmius Gemellus, praetor of that province. Catullus stopped on the way in the Troad, at the grave of his brother, who had recently drowned.
The poem is in elegiac couplets, usually reserved for romantic poems.
The phrase "ave atque vale" ("hail and farewell") is one of the most famous from Catullus.(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Thro' various realms, o'er various seas I come,
To see that each due sacrifice be paid,
To bring my last sad off'ring to thy tomb,
And thy mute dust invoke, fraternal shad!
Yes, hapless brother! since the hand of fate
Hath snatch'd thee ever from my longing sight;
As us'd our ancestors, in solemn state
I'll bring each mystic gift, each fun'ral rite:
With many a tear I will the ground bedew --
Spirit of him I lov'd, those tears receive!
Spirit of him I valued most, adieu!
Adieu to him who sleeps in yonder grave!
[tr. Nott (1795), # 96]Brother, I come o'er many seas and lands
To the sad rite which pious love ordains,
To pay thee the last gift that death demands;
And oft, though vain, invoke thy mute remains:
Since death has ravish'd half myself in thee,
Oh wretched brother, sadly torn from me!
And now ere fate our souls shall re-unite,
To give me back all it hath snatch'd away,
Receive the gifts, our fathers' ancient rite
To shades departed still was wont to pay;
Gifts wet with tears of heartfelt grief that tell,
And ever, brother, bless thee, and farewell!
[tr. Lamb (1821)]O'er many a sea, o'er many a stranger land,
I bring this tribute to thy lonely tomb,
My brother! and beside the narrow room,
That holds thy silent ashes weeping stand.
Vainly I call to thee. Who can command
An answer forth from Orcus' dreary gloom?
Oh, brother, brother, life lost all its bloom,
When thou wert snatch'd from me with pitiless hand!
A day will come, when we shall meet once more!
Meanwhile, these gifts, which to the honour'd grave
Of those they loved in life our sires of yore
With pious hand and reverential gave,
Accept! Gifts moisten'd with a brother's tears!
And now, farewell, and rest thee from all fears !
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]Brother! o'er many lands and oceans borne,
I reach thy grave, death's last sad rite to pay;
To call thy silent dust in vain, and mourn,
Since ruthless fate has hurried thee away:
Woe 's me! yet now upon thy tomb I lay,
All soak'd with tears for thee, thee loved so well,
What gifts our fathers gave the honour' d clay
Of valued friends; take them, my grief they tell:
And now, for ever hail! for ever fare-thee-well!
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]Borne over many a land and many a sea,
Brother! I reach thy gloom-wrapt grave to pay
The last sad office thou may'st claim from me,
And all in vain address thy silent clay:
For thou art gone -- fell fate that from me tore
Thee, thee, my brother! ah, too cruel thought!
I'll call thee, but I'll never hear thee more
Recount the deeds thy valiant arm hath wrought.
And I shall never see thy face again,
Dearer than life; yet in my heart alway
Assuredly shall fond affection reign,
And aye with grief's wan hues I'll tinge my lay:
Yea, even as the Daulian bird her song
Outpours in accents sweetly-dolorous,
When o'er the branch-gloom'd river, all night long,
She wails the fate of perish'd Itylus.
Yet now what gifts our sires in ancient years
Paid those with whom in life they loved to dwell,
Accept: -- all streaming with thy brother's tears;
And, brother! hail for aye! for aye farewell!
[tr. Cranstoun (1867), "from the text of Schwabe"]Borne o'er many a land, o'er many a level of ocean,
Here to the grave I come, brother, of holy repose,
Sadly the last poor gifts, death's simple duty, to bring thee;
Unto the silent dust vainly to murmur a cry.
Since thy form deep-shrouded an evil destiny taketh
From me, O hapless ghost, brother, O heavily ta'en,
Yet this bounty the while, these gifts ancestral of usance
Homely, the sad slight store piety grants to the tomb;
Drench'd in a brother's tears, and weeping freshly, receive them;
Yea, take, brother, a long Ave, a timeless adieu.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]Through many a land, o'er many a sea I come,
To sacrifice, dear brother, at thy tomb;
With these last rites to drop the unheeded tear,
And call that name thou canst no longer hear.
By oh ! my brother, since by fate's decree,
Alas ! too early, thou wast torn from me.
Accept this offering to thy honoured shade,
By custom sanctioned -- by affection paid:
And while these frequent tears my sorrow tell.
Take, dearest brother, this my last farewell.
[tr. Bliss (1872)]Through many lands and over many seas
I come, my Brother, to thine obsequies,
To pay thee the last honours that remain,
And call upon thy voiceless dust, in vain.
Since cruel fate has robbed me even of thee,
Unhappy Brother, snatched away from me,
Now none the less the gifts our fathers gave,
The melancholy honours of the grave,
Wet with my tears I bring to thee, and say
Farewell! farewell! for ever and a day.
[tr. Murray (1891)]Faring thro' many a folk and plowing many a sea-plain
These sad funeral-rites (Brother!) to deal thee I come,
So wi' the latest boons to the dead bestowed I may gift thee,
And I may vainly address ashes that answer have none,
Sithence of thee, very thee, to deprive me Fortune behested,
Woe for thee, Brother forlore! Cruelly severed fro' me.
...
Yet in the meanwhile now what olden usage of forbears
Brings as the boons that befit mournfullest funeral rites,
Thine be these gifts which flow with tear-flood shed by thy brother,
And, for ever and aye (Brother!) all hail and farewell.
[tr. Burton (1893)]Through many nations and through many seas borne, I come, brother, for these sad funeral rites, that I may give the last gifts to the dead, and may vainly speak to your silent ashes, since fortune has taken yourself away from me. Ah, poor brother, undeservedly snatched from me. But now receive these gifts, which have been handed down in the ancient manner of ancestors, the sad gifts to the grave, drenched with a brother's tears, and for ever, brother, hail and farewell.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]By ways remote and distant waters sped,
Brother, to thy sad grave-side am I come,
That I may give the last gifts to the dead,
And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb:
Since she who now bestows and now denies
Hath ta'en thee, hapless brother, from mine eyes.
But lo! these gifts, the heirlooms of past years,
Are made sad things to grace thy coffin shell;
Take them, all drenched with a brother's tears,
And, brother, for all time, hail and farewell!
[tr. Beardsley (1896)]Homewards, a traveller, from many lands returning,
I greet thee, brother, only at thy grave.
To thy dumb ashes telling o'er, in accents burning,
Those rites, 'tis said, departed spirits crave.
All that I can -- with tears -- the words our fathers taught us --
Which borne afar, like sound of sea-rocked bell.
Perchance may reach thee on those sad and lonely waters,
Longed for, though late -- a brother's last farewell.
[tr. Harman (1897)]Wandering through many countries and over many seas I come, my brother, to these sorrowful obsequies, to present you with the last guerdon of death, and speak, though in vain, to your silent ashes, since fortune has taken your own self away from me -- alas, my brother, so cruelly torn from me! Yet now meanwhile take these offerings, which by the custom of our fathers have been handed down -- a sorrowful tribute -- for a funeral sacrifice; take them, wet with many tears of a brother, and for ever, my brother, hail and farewell!
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904); 1913 Loeb edition the same]Borne over many lands and many seas, I come, O my brother, to the sad spot where you repose; that I may render to you the last sad rites of the dead, and call, although in vain, to your dumb ashes. Since fate has snatched your dear presence from my eyes, alas, O my brother, so cruelly taken from me, yet receive these last sad rites, that are according to the pious usages of our forefathers and are washed with a brother's many tears, and now for ever, O my brother, hail and farewell!
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]Travelled o'er many a land and o'er the seas
Hither I come to thy sad obsequies,
To pay thee, brother mine, death's farewell due,
And vainly bid thy silent dust adieu.
Since fate has torn thy living self away,
(Woe, brother, snatched from me, alack aday!)
Take, as our fathers used, till better things,
From me these sad time-honoured offerings
Wet with a brother's tears. And so, for aye,
I greet thee, brother, and I bid good-bye.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]By many lands and over many a wave
I come, my brother, to your piteous grave,
To bring you the last offering in death
And o'er dumb dust expend an idle breath.
Yet take these gifts, brought as our fathers bade
For sorrow's tribute to the passing shade;
A brother's tears have wet them o'er and o'er;
And so, my brother, hail, and farewell evermore!
[tr. Marris (1924)]From land to land, o'er many waters borne,
Brother, I come to these thy rites forlorn,
The latest gift, the due of death, to pay,
The fruitless word to silent dust to say.
Since death has reft thy living self from me,
Poor brother, stolen away so cruelly,
Yet this the while, which ancient use decrees
Sad ritual of our sires for obsequies,
Take, streaming with a brother's tears that tell
Of a last greeting, brother, a last farewell.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]O'er many a land, o'er many waters led,
Brother, my path to thy sad tomb is made,
That I may give the last gifts to the dead
And vainly parley with thy silent shade;
Since the blind goddess to the realm of night
Hath stol'n thee, hapless brother, from my sight.
So now these gifts, by custom of past years,
I bring as offerings to thy funeral cell;
Take them, all moistened with a brother's tears,
And brother, for all time, hail and farewell.
[tr. Wright (1926)]Dear brother, I have come these many miles, through strange lands to this Eastern Continent
to see your grave, a poor sad monument of what you were, 0 brother.
And I have come too late; you cannot hear me; alone now I must speak
to these few ashes that were once your body and expect no answer.
I shall perform an ancient ritual over your remains, weeping,
(this plate of lentils for dead men to feast upon, wet with my tears)
O brother, here's my greeting: here's my hand forever welcoming you
and I forever saying: good-bye, good-bye.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]Driven across many nations, across many oceans,
I am here, my brother, for this final parting,
to offer at last those gifts which the dead are given
and to speak in vain to your unspeaking ashes,
since bitter fortune forbids you to hear me or answer,
O my wretched brother, so abruptly taken!
But now I must celebrate grief with funeral tributes
offered the dead in the ancient way of the fathers;
accept these presents, wet with my brotherly tears, and
now & forever, my brother, hail & farewell.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]Carried over many seas, and through many nations,
brother, I come to these sad funeral rites,
to grant you the last gifts to the dead,
and speak in vain to your mute ashes.
Seeing that fate has stolen from me your very self.
Ah alas, my brother, taken shamefully from me,
yet, by the ancient custom of our parents,
receive these sad gifts, offerings to the dead,
soaked deeply with a brother’s tears,
and for eternity, brother: ‘Hail and Farewell!’
[tr. Kline (2001)]A journey across many seas and through many nations
has brought me here, brother, for these poor obsequies,
to let me address, all in vain, your silent ashes,
and render you the last service for the dead,
since fortune, alas, has bereft me of your person,
my poor brother, so unjustly taken from me.
Still, here now I offer those gifts which by ancestral custom
are presented, sad offerings, at such obsequies:
accept them, soaked as they are with a brother’s weeping,
and, brother, forever now hail and farewell.
[tr. Green (2005)]Carried through many nations and many seas,
I arrive, Brother, at these miserable funeral rites,
So that I might bestow you with the final gift of death
And might speak in vain to the silent ash.
Since Fortune has stolen you yourself from me,
Alas, wretched brother stolen undeservedly from me,
Meanwhile, however, receive now these flowing with much
Brotherly weeping, these which in the ancient custom
Of our parents were handed down as a sad gift for funeral rites,
And forever, Brother, hail and farewell.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017); Wikisource (2021)]Drawn across many nations and seas
I come to your pitiful resting place, brother
To present you with a final gift at death
And to try to pointlessly comfort mute ash --
because chance has stolen you away from me.
My sad brother, unfairly taken from me.
For now, accept this, the ancient custom of our ancestors
Handed down as the sad gift for the grave,
Given with a flowing flood of fraternal tears
And forever, my brother, hail and farewell.
[tr. Grenadier (2021)]Through many nations and across many seas
I’ve come, my brother, for these sad burial rites --
To pay you the final tribute owed the dead,
And to speak, in vain, with your speechless ashes,
Since fortune has snatched you -- you! -- away from me.
Oh! My poor brother, cruelly taken from me!
Still, there’s the matter of the burial rites,
Preserved in antique customs of our line
And passed on in the melancholic tribute:
Receive them, though quite wet with fraternal tears.
And now, for all time, my brother,
I salute you and say goodbye.
[tr. Benn (2021)]
MALCOLM: Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief
Convert to anger. Blunt not the heart; enrage it.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Macbeth, Act 4, sc. 3, l. 268ff (4.3.268-269) (1606)
(Source)
To Macduff, after Macbeth's killers have murdered Macduff's family.
If any solace, any joy may fall,
Calvus, to silent sepulchres through tears,
When the lost love regretful we recall
And weep the parted friend of early years,
Then, sure, Quintilia is not wholly sad,
Untimely lost: your love has made her glad.[Si quicquam mutis gratum acceptumve sepulcris
accidere a nostro, Calve, dolore potest,
quo desiderio veteres renovamus amores
atque olim junctas flemus amicitias,
certe non tanto mors immatura dolori est
Quintiliae, quantum gaudet amore tuo.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 96 [tr. MacNaghten (1925), “On the Death of Quintilia, Wife of Calvus”]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:If ever to the dumb, sepulcrhal urn
The tribute of a tear could grateful prove;
What timne each recollected scene we mourn,
Each deed of ancient friendship, and of love:
Less sure, fond youth, must thy Quintilia grieve
That she by death's cold hand untimely fell;
Than joys her parted spirit to perceive
How much her Calvus lov'd her, and how well!
[tr. Nott (1795), # 91 "To Calvus, on Quintilia]Calvus, if any joy from mortal tears
Can touch the feelings of the silent dead;
When dwells regret on loves of former years,
Or weeps o'er friendships that have long been fled,
Oh! then far less will be Quintilia's woe
At early death and fate's severe decree,
Than the pure pleasure she will feel to know
How well, how truly she was loved by thee!
[tr. Lamb (1821), # 90 "To Calvus, on the Death of Quintilia"]Calvus, if those now silent in the tomb
Can feel the touch of pleasure in our tears,
For those we loved, who perished in their bloom,
And the departed friends of former years;
Oh, then, full surely thy Quinctilia's woe,
For the untimely fate that bade ye part,
Will fade before the bliss she feels ot know,
How every dear she is unto thy heart!
[tr. T. Martin (1861), "To Calvus"]Calvus! if from our grief aught can accrue
The silent dead to solace or to cheer,
When fond regret broods o'er old loves anew,
And o'er lost friendships sheds the bitter tear
Oh ! then her grief at death's untimely blow
To thy Quintilia; far, far less must prove
Than the pure joy her soul must feel, to know
Thy true, unchanging, ever-during love.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867), "To Calvus, on teh Death of Quintilia"]If to the silent dead aught sweet or tender ariseth,
Calvus, of our dim grief's common humanity born;
When to a love long cold some pensive pity recalls us,
When for a friend long lost wakes some unhappy regret;
Not so deeply, be sure, Quintilia's early departing
Grieves her, as in thy love dureth a plenary joy.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]If to the dumb deaf tomb can aught or grateful or pleasing
(Calvus!) ever accrue rising from out of our dule,
Wherewith yearning desire renews our loves in the bygone,
And for long friendships lost many a tear must be shed;
Certès, never so much for doom of premature death-day
Must thy Quintilia mourn as she is joyed by thy love.
[tr. Burton (1893) "To Calvus anent Dead Quintilia"]Calvus, if anything pleasing or welcome from our grief can have an effect on silent graves, then with its longing we renew old loves and weep friendships once lost, surely Quintilia does not mourn her premature death as much as she rejoices in your love.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]If living sorrows any boon
Unto the silent grave can give,
When sad remembrances revive
Old loves and friendships fugitive,
She sorrows less she died so soon
Than joys your love is still alive.
[tr. Symons (c. 1900)]If the silent grave can receive any pleasure, or sweetness at all from our grief, Calvus, the grief and regret with which we renew our old loves, and weep for long lost friendships, surely Quintilia feels less sorrow for her too early death, than pleasure from your love.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]If our grief, Calvus, can give any pleasure or consolation to the buried dead, and the yearning with which we re-enkindle old loves, and weep lost friends; then surely Quintilia; must feel less sorrow for her untimely end than joy in your love
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]If the silent grave can receive any pleasure, or sweetness at all from our grief, Calvus, the grief and regret with which we make our old loves live again, and weep for long-lost friendships, surely Quintilia feels less sorrow for her too early death, than pleasure from your love.
[tr. Warre Cornish (Loeb) (1913)]If into the silent tomb can steal
Some tenderness, some thought devine,
If aught from this life the dead can feel,
Then, Calvus, be this solace thine.
When we mourn old friends with longing heart;
For dear dead loves in anguish cry,
Oh, there, do they feel the hot tears start,
Touched by a love that cannot die?
If this be, Calvus, thy sweet girl wife.
There in the tomb shall less grief know
For her spring time lost, her broken life,
Than joy in thy love that loved her so.
[tr. Stewart (1915)]If yearning grief can pierce the tomb,
Reach silent souls and cheer their gloom,
When, Calvus, we lost loves regret,
And mourn the dear we ne'er forget,
Quintilia'll cease her death to rue,
For joy she's proved your love so true.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923), "To Calvus on Quintilia"]If from our anguish to the voiceless tomb
Some meed of pleasure and of joy may come
When we recall the love we felt of yore
And the dear face whom now we see no more,
Then know thy sorrow gives thy wife beneath
A joy surpassing all the pains of death.
[tr. Wright (1926), "To Calvus on the Death of His Wife Quintilia"]If anything can pierce impenetrable earth and echo in the silence
of the grave, my Calvus, it is our sad memory
of those we love. (Our longing for them makes them bloom again,
quickened with love and friendship,
even though they left us long ago, heavy with tears).
Surely, yur Quintilia now no longer cries against powerful death
(who had taken her away from you too soon and she was gone).
Look, she is radiant, fixed in your mind, happy forever.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]If those in their silent graves can receive any pleasure or comfort at all, Calvus, from our lamenting, from that desire which we rekindle former affections and weep for friendships we long ago surrendered, then surely her premature death brings less grief than joy to Quintilia, whom you continue to cherish.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]If anything from our grief, can reach beyond
the mute grave, Calvus, and be pleasing and welcome,
grief with which, in longing, we revive our lost loves,
and weep for vanished friendships once known,
surely Quintilia’s not so much sad for her early death,
as joyful for your love.
[tr. Kline (2001), "Beyond The Grave: to Gaius Licinius Calvus"]If anything pleasant or welcome, Calvus, can befall the mute sepulchre in consequence of our grief, from the yearning with which we renew our ancient passions and weep for friendships long since cast away, surely it's not so much grief that's felt by Quintilia at her premature death , as joyfulness in your love.
[tr. Green (2005)]If anything pleasing or acceptable to silent sepulchers
is able to be done by our grief, Calvus,
by this longing we renew old loves
and we lament once sent away friendships.
Certainly a premature death is not of such sadness
to Quintilia, so much as she rejoices in your love.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]If anything dear and welcome can happen in mute graves
Because of our sadness, Calvus,
Because of that longing by which we renew old loves
And by which we weep for friendships formed long ago,
Surely Quintilia isn’t saddened by her untimely death,
But rather, she’s gladdened by your love.
[tr. Benn (2022)]
Life is a madrigal or a dirge, according to the singer’s temperament.
Minna Antrim (1861-1950) American epigrammatist, writer
Naked Truth and Veiled Allusions (1902)
(Source)
What is the worst of woes that wait on Age?
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?
To view each loved one blotted from Life’s page,
And be alone on earth, as I am now.George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) English poet
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto 2, st. 98 (1812)
(Source)
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950) American poet
Sonnet 43 “What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,” ll. 9ff. (1920), The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems (1923)
(Source)
Originally published in Vanity Fair (1920-11).
When we think of loss we think of the loss, through death, of people we love. But loss is a far more encompassing theme in our life. For we lose not only through death, but also by leaving and being left, by changing and letting go and moving on. And our losses include not only our separations and departures from those we love, but our conscious and unconscious losses of romantic dreams, impossible expectations, illusions of freedom and power, illusions of safety — and the loss of our own younger self, the self that thought it would always be unwrinkled and invulnerable and immortal.
Judith Viorst (b. 1931) American writer, journalist, psychoanalysis researcher
Necessary Losses, Introduction (1986)
(Source)
Knowing that others have gone through similar tragedies may be a help, but it should be remembered that every tragedy is not only commonplace but also unique.
Judith Martin (b. 1938) American author, journalist, etiquette expert [a.k.a. Miss Manners]
Miss Manners Rescues Civilization, ch. 9 “Jettisoning Professional Behavior” (1996)
(Source)
LEONATO: No, no, t’is all men’s office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Much Ado About Nothing, Act 5, sc. 1, l. 29ff (5.1.29-33) (1598)
(Source)
Full many various qualities distinguish
The Cyprian Goddess; both supreme delight
And sorrow she dispenses to mankind:
O may I meet with her when most propitious.
[Τῇ δ’ ‘ Αφροδίτῃ πόλλ’ ἔνεστι ποικίλα ·
τέρπει τε γὰρ μάλιστα καὶ λυπεῖ βροτούς ·
τύχοιμι δ’ αὐτῆς, ἡνίκ ̓ ἐστὶν εὐμενής .]Euripides (485?-406? BC) Greek tragic dramatist
Æolus [Αἴολος], frag. 26 (TGF) [tr. Wodhull (1809)]
(Source)
The Cyprian Goddess is Aphrodite, the goddess of love.
Nauck frag. 26, Barnes frag. 34, Musgrave frag. 10. (Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:Aphrodite has many shades:
She can please or aggrieve men completely.
[tr. @sentantiq (2015)]
BENEDICK: Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Much Ado About Nothing, Act 3, sc. 2, l. 27ff (3.2.27-28) (1598)
(Source)
BALTHAZAR: Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey, nonny nonny.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, sc. 3, l. 64ff (2.3.64-71) (1598)
"Hey, nonny nonny" was a nonsense refrain popular in English music during the Elizabethan era; in context here, it means stop grieving over the guy that dumped you and put that effort instead into some merry-making and song. Music historian Ross Duffin believes the form of Balthazar's tune fits a popular song of the Tudor period, "The Lusty Gallant."
Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have someone to divide it with.
Mark Twain (1835-1910) American writer [pseud. of Samuel Clemens]
Following the Equator, ch. 48, epigraph (1897)
(Source)
Ye Venuses and Cupids mourn,
Ye whom the graces most adorn,
Come, and your tears of sorrow shed:
My Lesbia’s little bird is dead.[Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque
et quantum est hominum venustiorum!
passer mortuus est meae puellae,
passer, deliciae meae puellae.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 3 “Death of the Sparrow,” ll. 1-4 [tr. Bliss (1872)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Mourn all ye Loves! ye Graces mourn!
My Lesbia's fav'rite sparrow's gone!
Ye men for wit, for taste, preferr'd,
Lament my girl's departed bird!
[tr. Nott (1795)]Mourn, all ye loves and graces; mourn,
Ye wits, ye gallant, and ye gay;
Death from my fair her bird has torn,
Her much-loved Sparrow's snatch'd away.
[tr. Lamb (1821)]Loves and Graces, mourn with me,
Mourn, fair youths, where'er ye be!
Dead my Lesbia's sparrow is,
Sparrow, that was all her bliss.
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]Ye Graces! mourn, oh mourn!
Mourn, Cupids Venus-born!
And loveliest sons of earth, where'er ye are !
Dead is now my darling's sparrow --
Sparrow of my "winsome marrow,"
Than her very eyes, oh! dearer to her far.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]Weep each heavenly Venus, all the Cupids,
Weep all men that have any grace about ye.
Dead the sparrow, in whom my love delighted,
The dear sparrow, in whom my love delighted.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]Weep every Venus, and all Cupids wail,
And men whose gentler spirits still prevail.
Dead is the Sparrow of my girl, the joy,
Sparrow, my sweeting's most delicious toy.
[tr. Burton (1893)]O mourn, you Loves and Cupids, and all men of gracious mind. Dead is the sparrow of my girl, sparrow, darling of my girl.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]Mourn, all ye Loves, ye Loves and Cupids, mourn,
Make moan for heaviness, ye gallants bright,
For Lesbia's bird, my Lesbia weeps forlorn;
He's dead -- poor, pretty bird -- my love's delight!
[tr. Harman (1897)]Mourn, ye Graces and Loves, and all you whom the Graces love. My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow my lady's pet.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]Mourn, all ye Graces, mourn, ye Sons of Love, and all whose hearts engender pity. The sparrow of my beloved is no more; that sparrow, the delight of my beloved.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]Weep, weep, ye Loves and Cupids all,
And ilka Man o’ decent feelin’:
My lassie’s lost her wee, wee bird,
And that’s a loss, ye’ll ken, past healin’.
[tr. Davies (1912)]Let Venus bow her head in grief,
And tears drown Cupid's eyes in sorrow,
And men of feeling everywhere
Forget to smile -- until tomorrow.
My lady's little bird lies dead,
The bird that was my lady's prize.
[tr. Stewart (1915)]Weep, ye gods of love and pleasure,
Weep, all all ye of finer clay,
Weep, my darling's lost her treasure,
Mourn her sparrow passed away!
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]Mourn Loves and Graces all, and you
Of men the lovelier chosen few.
The sparrow of my love is dead,
The playmate of my love is sped.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]Dress now in sorrow, O all
you shades of Venus,
and your little cupids weep.
My girl has lost her darling sparrow.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]Lament, o graces of Venus, and Cupids,
and cry out loud, men beloved by Her graces.
Pass here, it's dead, meant so much to my girl, the
sparrow, the jewel that delighted my girl.
[tr. Zukofsky (1959)]Mourn, oh Cupids and Venuses,
and whatever there is of rather pleasing men:
the sparrow of my girlfriend has died,
the sparrow, delight of my girl.
[tr. Sullvan (1997)]Mourn, O you Loves and Cupids
and such of you as love beauty:
my girl’s sparrow is dead,
sparrow, the girl’s delight.
[tr. Kline (2001)]Mourn, Cupids all, every Venus,
and whatever company still exists of caring people:
Sparrow lies dead, my own true sweegheart's sparrow.
[tr. Green (2005)]Mourn, Oh Venuses and Cupids
And all men of finer feeling
The sparrow of my girl has died,
the sparrow, my lady's pet.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]Mourn, O Venuses and Cupids
and however many there are of more charming people:
my girl's sparrow is dead --
the sparrow, delight of my girl.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
By those, that deepest feel, are ill exprest
The indistinctness of the suffering breast;
Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one,
Which seeks from all the refuge found in none;
No words suffice the secret soul to show.
And Truth denies all eloquence to Woe.George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) English poet
The Corsair, Canto 3, st. 22, l. 1807ff (1814)
(Source)
They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.
He’s the one who gives us wine to ease our pain.
If you take wine away, love will die, and
every other source of human joy will follow.[τὴν παυσίλυπον ἄμπελον δοῦναι βροτοῖς.
οἴνου δὲ μηκέτ᾽ ὄντος οὐκ ἔστιν Κύπρις
οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο τερπνὸν οὐδὲν ἀνθρώποις ἔτι.]Euripides (485?-406? BC) Greek tragic dramatist
Bacchæ [Βάκχαι], l. 772ff [First Messenger/Ἄγγελος] (405 BC) [tr. Woodruff (1999)]
(Source)
Speaking of Dionysus. (Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:He, the grape, that med'cine for our cares,
Bestow'd on favour'd mortals. Take away
The sparkling Wine, fair Venus smiles no more
And every pleasure quits the human race.
[tr. Wodhull (1809)]He gives to mortals the vine that puts an end to grief. Without wine there is no longer Aphrodite or any other pleasant thing for men.
[tr. Buckley (1850)]He hath given the sorrow-soothing vine to man
For where wine is not love will never be,
Nor any other joy of human life.
[tr. Milman (1865)]He gives the soothing vine
Which stills the sorrow of the human heart;
Where wine is absent, love can never be;
Where wine is absent, other joys are gone.
[tr. Rogers (1872), l. 732ff]’Twas he that gave the vine to man, sorrow’s antidote. Take wine away and Cypris flies, and every other human joy is dead.
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]He gave men the grief-assuaging vine.
When wine is no more found, then Love is not,
Nor any joy beside is left to men.
[tr. Way (1898)]This is he who first to man did give
The grief-assuaging vine. Oh, let him live;
For if he die, then Love herself is slain,
And nothing joyous in the world again!
[tr. Murray (1902)]It was he,
or so they say, who gave to mortal men
the gift of lovely wine by which our suffering
is stopped. And if there is no god of wine,
there is no love, no Aphrodite either,
nor other pleasures left to men.
[tr. Arrowsmith (1960)]They say that he
has given to men the vine that ends pain.
If wine were no more, then Cypris is no more
nor anything else delighted for mankind.
[tr. Kirk (1970)]It was he who gave men the gift of the vine as a cure for sorrow. And if there were no more wine, why, there's an end of love, and of every other pleasure in life.
[tr. Vellacott (1973)]Didn't he make us
Mortal men the gift of wine? If that is true
You have much to thank him for -- wine makes
Our labors bearable. Take wine away
And the world is without joy, tolerance, or love.
[tr. Soyinka (1973)]The sorrow-ceasing vine he gives to mortals.
Without wine there is no Aphrodite,
nor longer any other delight for men.
[tr. Neuburg (1988)]It was he,
so they say, who gave to us, poor mortals, the gift of wine,
that numbs all sorrows.
If wine should ever cease to be,
then so will love.
No pleasures left for men.
[tr. Cacoyannis (1982)]He himself, I hear them say,
Gave the pain-killing vine to men.
When wine is no more, neither is love.
Nor any other pleasure for mankind.
[tr. Blessington (1993)]He gave to mortals the vine that stops pain.
If there were no more wine, then there is no more Aphrodite
nor any other pleasure for mankind.
[tr. Esposito (1998)]It's he who gave
To mortals the vine that stops all suffering.
Adn if wine were to exist no longer, then
Neither would the goddess Aphrodite,
Nor anything of pleasure for us mortals.
[tr. Gibbons/Segal (2000), l. 885ff]He gave to mortals the vine that puts an end to pain. If there is no wine, there is no Aphrodite or any other pleasure for mortals.
[tr. Kovacs (2002)]Besides, he's given us the gift of wine,
Without which man desires nor endures not.
[tr. Teevan (2002)]He’s the god who brought the wine to the mortals. Great stuff that. It stops all sadness. Truth is, my Lord, when the wine is missing so does love and then… well, then there’s nothing sweet left for us mortals.
[tr. Theodoridis (2005)]He is the one who gave us the vine that gives
pause from pain; and if there is no wine, there'll be no more
Aphrodite, & there is no other gift to give such pleasure to us mortals.
[tr. Valerie (2005)]He gives to mortal human beings that vine which puts an end to human grief. Without wine, there's no more Aphrodite -- or any other pleasure left for men.
[tr. Johnston (2008)]He is great in so many ways -- not least, I hear say,
for his gift of wine to mortal men.
Wine, which puts an end to sorrow and to pain.
And if there is no wine, there is no Aphrodite,
And without her no pleasure left at all.
[tr. Robertson (2014)]When wine is gone, there is no more Cypris,
nor anything else to delight a mortal heart.
[tr. @sentantiq/Robinson (2015)]He gave mortals the pain-pausing vine.
When there is no wine, Cypris is absent,
And human beings have no other pleasure.
[tr. @sentantiq (2015)]I’ve heard he gave the grapevine to us mortals, as an end to pain.
And without wine, we’ve got no chance with Aphrodite. Or anything else good, for that matter.
[tr. Pauly (2019)]He even gives to mortals the grape that brings relief from cares. Without wine there is no longer Kypris or any other delightful thing for humans.
[tr. Buckley/Sens/Nagy (2020)]He gave mortals the pain-relieving vine.
But when there is no more wine, there is no Aphrodite
Nor any other pleasure left for human beings.
[tr. @sentantiq (2021)]
There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.
Have done at last.
Bow to my appeals. Don’t let your corrosive grief
devour you in silence, or let your dire concerns come
pouring from your sweet lips and plaguing me forever.[Desine iam tandem precibusque inflectere nostris,
ni te tantus edit tacitam dolor et mihi curae
saepe tuo dulci tristes ex ore recursent,
ventum ad supremum est.]Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]
The Aeneid [Ænē̆is], Book 12, l. 800ff (12.800-803) [Jove] (29-19 BC) [tr. Fagles (2006)]
(Source)
Jove ordering Juno to stop prolonging the war between the local nations of Italy and the invading Trojans.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Give o'er at last, to our intreaties bend,
Nor let such eating grief thee silent spend,
Nor with such care so often trouble me.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]At last, in deference to my love, forbear
To lodge within thy soul this anxious care;
Reclin'd upon my breast, thy grief unload:
Who should relieve the goddess, but the god?
[tr. Dryden (1697)]Now at length desist, and be swayed by my entreaty: nor let such discontent prey upon you in silence; nor let gloomy cares so often meet me from those sweet lips.
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]At length give way;
Permit my prayers your will to sway;
Nor brood in silent grief, nor vent
From those sweet lips your ill-content.
[tr. Conington (1866)]Yield to our prayers, desist thou now at length;
Nor let such grief consume thy silent heart,
Nor from thy sweet lips let these gloomy cares
Encounter me so oft.
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 1015ff]Forbear now, I pray, and bend to our entreaties; let not the pain thus devour thee in silence, and distress so often flood back on me from thy sweet lips.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]I prithee yield unto my prayers, and from thy troubling cease.
Let not thine hushed grief eat thine heart, or bitter words of care
So often from thy sweetest mouth the soul within me wear.
[tr. Morris (1900)]Desist at length, and hearken to my prayer.
Feed not in silence on a grief so sore,
Nor spoil those sweet lips with unlovely care.
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 104, l. 928ff]Give o'er, and to our supplication yield;
let not such grief thy voiceless heart devour;
nor from thy sweet lips let thy mournful care
so oft assail my mind.
[tr. Williams (1910)]Cease now, I pray, and bend to our entreaties, that such great grief may not consume thee in silence, nor to me may bitter cares so ft return from thy sweet lips.
[tr. Fairclough (1918)]Stop it now, I tell you;
Listen to my entreaties: I would not have you
Devoured by grief in silence; I would not have you
Bring me, again, anxiety and sorrow,
However sweet the voice.
[tr. Humphries (1951)]Then yield to my persuasions, give up the long feud now at last!
No more of the hidden rancour that so consumes you, the sullen
Recriminations your sweet lips have troubled me with so often.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1952)]Stop at last;
give way to what I now ask: do not let
so great a sorrow gnaw at you in silence;
do not let your sweet lips so often press
your bitter cares on me.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 1062ff]Come now, at last
Have done, and heed our pleading, and give way.
Let yourself no longer be consumed
Without relief by all that inward burning;
Let care and trouble not forever come to me
From your sweet lips.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 1083]The time has come at last for you to cease and give way to our entreaties. Do not let this great sorrow gnaw at your heart in silence, and do not make me listen to grief and resentment for ever streaming from your sweet lips.
[tr. West (1990)]Now cease, at last, and give way to my entreaties,
lest such sadness consume you in silence, and your bitter
woes stream back to me often from your sweet lips.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
She weeps not for her sire if none be near,
In company she calls up many a tear.
True mourners would not have their sorrows known,
For grief of heart will choose to weep alone.[Amissum non flet cum sola est Gellia patrem,
Si quis adest, iussae prosiliunt lacrimae.
Non luget quisquis laudari, Gellia, quaerit,
Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet.]Martial (AD c.39-c.103) Spanish Roman poet, satirist, epigrammatist [Marcus Valerius Martialis]
Epigrams [Epigrammata], Book 1, epigram 33 (1.33) (AD 85-86) [tr. Pott & Wright (1921)]
(Source)
"On Gellia." (Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Gellia ne'er mourns her father's loss,
When no one's by to see,
but yet her soon commanded tears
Flow in society:
To weep for praise is but a feigned moan;
He grieves most truly, that does grieve alone.
[tr. Fletcher (1656)]When all alone, your tears withstand;
In company, can floods command.
Who mourns for fashion, bids us mark;
Who mourns indeed, mourns in the dark.
[tr. Killigrew (1695)]Gellia alone, alas! can never weep,
Though her fond father perish'd in the deep;
With company the tempest all appears
And beauteous Gellia's e'en dissolved in tears.
Through public grief though Gellia aims at praise,
'Tis private sorrow which must merit raise.
[Gentleman's Magazine (1736)]Her father dead! -- Alone no grief she knows;
Th' obedient tear at every visit flows.
No mourner he, who must with praise be fee'd!
But he, who mourns in secret, mourns indeed.
[tr. Hay (1755), 1.34]Sire-reft, alone, poor Gellia weeps no woe:
In company she bids the torrent flow.
they cannot grieve, who to be seen, can cry:
Theirs is the grief, who without witness sigh.
[tr. Elphinston (1782), Book 6, Part 3, ep. 1]Gellia, when she is alone, does not lament the loss of her father. If any one be present, her bidden tears gush forth. A person does not grieve who seeks for praise; his is real sorrow who grieves without a witness.
[tr. Amos (1858), #95 "Feigned Tears"]Gellia does not mourn for her deceased father, when she is alone; but if any one is present, obedient tears spring forth. He mourns not, Gellia, who seeks to be praised; he is the true mourner, who mourns without a witness.
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1859)]He grieves not much who grieves to merit praise;
His grief is real who grieves in solitude.
[ed. Harbottle (1897)]Gellia weeps not while she is alone for her lost father; is any one be present, her tears leap forth at her bidding. He does not lament who looks, Gellia for praise;' he truly sorrows who sorrows unseen.
[tr. Ker (1919)]Gellia, alone, ne'er weeps her sire at all;
In company the bidden tears down fall.
True grief is not for admiration shown.
He only weeps indeed, who weeps alone.
[tr. Francis & Tatum (1924), #18, 1.32]When alone, Gellia never cries for the father she lost.
If someone is with her, tears well up in her eyes,
as if ordered to fall in. If some one looks for praise,
he is not in mourning, Gellia.
He truly mourns
who mourns
alone.
[tr. Bovie (1970)]In private she mourns not the late-lamented;
If someone's by her tears leap forth on call.
Sorry, my dear, is not so easily rented.
They are true tears that without witness fall.
[tr. Cunningham (1971)]Gellia does not cry for her lost father when she's by herself, but if she has company, out spring the tears to order. Gellia, whoever seeks credit for mourning is no mourner. He truly grieves who grieves without witnesses.
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]Gellia's mourning for her father?
If by herself she doesn't bother.
But when she sees that company lurks
She opens up the waterworks.
She just wants praise for grief that's shown;
They truly grieve who weep alone.
[tr. Ericsson (1995)]When Janet is sequestered, out of view,
Then never for her father's death she cries.
But let some viewers come, just one or two,
Then tears dramatically flood her eyes.
We know from this how sad in fact she's been:
It is not grief that's only grieved when seen.
[tr. Wills (2007)]Gellia doesn't weep for her dead father
when she's alone, but tears pour on command
if someone comes. Who courts praise isn't mourning --
he truly grieves who grieves with none at hand.
[tr. McLean (2014)]Alone, Gellia never weeps over her father's death;
if someone's there, her tears burst forth at will.
Mourning that looks for praise, Gellia, is not grief:
true sorrow grieves unseen.
[tr. Powell]
Life brings no greater grief
Than happiness remembered in a time
Of sorrow.[Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Ne la miseria.]Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet
The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 5, l. 121ff (5.121-123) [Francesca] (1309) [tr. James (2013), l. 141ff]
(Source)
Francesca de Rimini is responding to Dante's request to speak of her love affair while in the middle of being punished for it. It is a true (if slanted) tale that occurred when Dante was a young man. Francesca da Polenta wed the crippled Giovanni Malatesta de Rimini, but fell in adulterous love with his brother, Paolo. Upon discovery of their affair, Giovanni killed them both. This was a local scandal, and would have been lost to time if Dante had not recorded it here. He relegates the lovers to the "least" eternal punishment in Hell, in the circle of carnal sins -- while Giovanni (who was still alive when this was written) is doomed to a lower circle for the murder (treachery to kindred). (More info.)
Inspiration for this particular phrase has been credited to many sources: Wisdom 11:11-12, Boethius (Consolation of Philosophy, 2.4.3-6), and Pindar (Pythian 4.510-512) are the most common. Augustine (Confessions 10.14) and Thomas Aquinas have also been cited.
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:No greater grief assails us [...]
Than in unhappy hours to recollect
A better time.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]Oh! how grievous to relate
Past joys, and tread again the paths of fate.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 23]No greater grief than to remember days
Of joy, when mis'ry is at hand!
[tr. Cary (1814)]No keener pang hath hell.
Than to recall, amid some deep distress,
Our happier time.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]There is no greater pain than to recall a happy time in wretchedness.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]There is no greater grief
Than to remember happiness in woe.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]No greater grief than this,
Mem'ry to hold of the past happy time
In misery.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]There is no greater sorrow
Than to be mindful of the happy time
In misery.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]No greater woe is there than to call to mind the happy time in your misery.
[tr. Butler (1885)]There is no greater grief
Than to remember us of happy time
In misery.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]There is no greater woe than in misery to remember the happy time.
[tr. Norton (1892)]No deeper sorrow is, than to recall a time of happiness, in misery's hour.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]There is no greater sorrow
Than to recall to memory times of gladness
In misery.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]There is no greater pain than to recall the happy time in misery.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]No grief surpasses this [...]
In the midst of misery to remember bliss.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]The bitterest woe of woes
Is to remember in our wretchedness
Old happy times.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]The double grief of a lost bliss
is to recall its happy hour in pain.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), ll. 118-19]There is no greater sorrow than to recall, in wretchedness, the happy time.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]There is no greater pain
than to remember, in our present grief,
past happiness!
[tr. Musa (1971)]There is no greater sorrow
than thinking back upon a happy time
in misery.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]There is no greater sorrow
Than to think backwards to a happy time,
When one is miserable.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]No sadness
Is greater than in misery to rehearse
Memories of joy.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 107ff]There is no greater pain than to remember the happy time in wretchedness.
[tr. Durling (1996)]There is no greater pain, than to remember happy times in misery.
[tr. Kline (2002)]There is no greater pain, I fear,
than to recall past joy in present hell.
[tr. Carson (2002)]There is no sorrow greater
than, in times of misery, to hold at heart
the memory of happiness.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]There is no greater sorrow
than to recall our time of joy
in wretchedness.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]No sadness afflicts the heart
More than recalling, in times of utter disaster,
Sweetened days in which we knew no darkness.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]What's sadder than remembering
The happy past when you're feeling wretched?
[tr. Bang (2012)]
All changes are more or less tinged with melancholy, for what we are leaving behind is part of ourselves.
Amelia E. Barr (1831-1919) British novelist and teacher.
All the Days of My Life, ch. 6 (1913)
(Source)
See Anatole France.
The pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment.
Colin Murray Parkes (b. 1928) British psychiatrist and author
Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life (1972)
(Source)
Sometimes paraphrased, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?William Blake (1757-1827) English poet, mystic, artist
“On Another’s Sorrow,” st. 1, Songs of Innocence and of Experience (1789)
(Source)
I will accept that sometimes a villain has to die, but I’ll be damned if I’ll take free drinks for doing it.
Phil Foglio (b. 1956) American writer, cartoonist
Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess [Barry Heterodyne] (2012) [with Kaja Foglio]
(Source)
The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.
J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973) English writer, fabulist, philologist, academic [John Ronald Reuel Tolkien]
The Lord of the Rings, Vol. 1: The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2, ch. 6 “Lothlórien” [Haldir] (1954)
(Source)
This communicating of a man’s self to his friend worketh two contrary effects; for it redoubleth joys and cutteth griefs in Halves. For there is no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but that he grieveth the less.
Francis Bacon (1561-1626) English philosopher, scientist, author, statesman
“Of Friendship,” Essays, No. 27 (1625)
(Source)
Now, do you think this could possibly happen to a wise person, to be subject to distress in this way? That is, to misery? For every emotion is a misery, but distress is a very torture-chamber. Desire scalds us; wild delight makes us giddy; fear degrades us, but the effects of distress are worse: gauntness, pain, depression, disfigurement. It eats away at the mind and, in a word, destroys it. This we must shed; this we must cast away, or else remain in misery.
[Hoc tu igitur censes sapienti accidere posse, ut aegritudine opprimatur, id est miseria? nam cum omnis perturbatio miseria est, tum carnificina est aegritudo. habet ardorem libido, levitatem laetitia gestiens, humilitatem metus, sed aegritudo maiora quaedam, tabem cruciatum adflictationem foeditatem, lacerat exest animum planeque conficit. hanc nisi exuimus sic ut abiciamus, miseria carere non possumus.]
Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BC) Roman orator, statesman, philosopher
Tusculan Disputations [Tusculanae Disputationes], Book 3, ch. 13 (3.13) / sec. 27 (45 BC) [tr. Graver (2002)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Now do you think this possible to befall a wise man, to be overwhelm'd with Discontent, that is, with Misery? For whereas every Passion is Misery, Discontent is a Rack. Lust hath its Scorching; Fond Pleasure its Levity; Fear a meanness of Spirit; but Discontent carrieth along with it more destructive Evils; a Consumption, Torture, Vexation, Deformity. It tears, it frets the Soul like a Canker, and utterly brings it to Destruction. Unless we put off this, so as to cast it away, we can never want for Misery.
[tr. Wase (1643)]Do you then think it can befall a wise man to be oppressed with grief, i.e., with misery? For, as all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack itself; lust is attended with heat; exulting joy with levity; fear with a meanness; but grief is something greater than these; it consumes, torments, afflicts, and disgraces a man; it tears him, preys upon him, and quite puts an end to him. If we do not divest ourselves so of it, as to throw it quite off, we cannot be free from misery.
[tr. Main (1824)]then, dost think this may occur to the wise man, that he should be oppressed with sorrow, -- that is, with misery? For, while every perturbation is misery, sorrow is misery in torture. Cupidity has ardour, exulting joy levity, fear humiliation; but sorrow implies something greater, -- infection, torment, prostration, pollution; it lacerates, it gnaws the mind, and consumes it utterly. Unless we strip it off, so as to cast it from us, we cannot escape misery.
[tr. Otis (1839)]Do you, then, think that it can befall a wise man to be oppressed with grief, that is to say, with misery? for, as all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack itself. Lust is attended with heat, exulting joy with levity, fear with meanness, but grief with something greater than these; it consumes, torments, afflicts, and disgraces a man; it tears him, preys upon his mind, and utterly destroys him: if we do not so divest ourselves of it as to throw it completely off, we cannot be free from misery.
[tr. Yonge (1853)]Do you then think that it can happen to a wise man to be overcome by grief, that is, by misery ? Nay more, while every perturbation of the soul is misery, grief is torture. Lust is attended by ardor, ecstatic joy by levity, fear by abjectness; but grief has, worse than all these, wasting, torment, distress, noisomeness. It lacerates, corrodes and utterly consumes the soul. Unless we so divest ourselves of it as to throw it entirely away, we cannot be otherwise than miserable.
[tr. Peabody (1886)]
My parents in the underworld! I send
This servant girl — take care and gently tend.
Conduct her past the terrifying shade.
Keep her of circling horrors unafraid,
For she, alas, was only six days shy
Of six years when too soon she came to die.
Protect her as she plays her childhood games,
And lisps, as shyly she was wont, our names.
Earth, sadly mounded on this gravesite new,
Press lightly on her, as she did on you.[Hanc tibi, Fronto pater, genetrix Flaccilla, puellam
Oscula commendo deliciasque meas,
Parvula ne nigras horrescat Erotion umbras
Oraque Tartarei prodigiosa canis.
Impletura fuit sextae modo frigora brumae,
Vixisset totidem ni minus illa dies.
Inter tam veteres ludat lasciva patronos
Et nomen blaeso garriat ore meum.
Mollia non rigidus caespes tegat ossa nec illi,
Terra, gravis fueris: non fuit illa tibi.]Martial (AD c.39-c.103) Spanish Roman poet, satirist, epigrammatist [Marcus Valerius Martialis]
Epigrams [Epigrammata], Book 5, epigram 34 (5.34) (AD 90) [tr. Wills (2007)]
(Source)
Erotion was a slave child in Martial's household, per other epigrams. The identity of Fronto and Flaccilla -- whether they are the names of Martial's parents or Erotion's -- is ambiguous in the Original Latin, and a subject of debate. See also 10.61.
Alternate translations:Ye parents Fronto and Flaccilla here,
To you I do commend my girl, my dear,
Lest pale Erotion tremble at the shades,
And the foul dog of hell's prodigious heads.
Her age fulfilling just six winters was,
Had she but known so many days to pass.
'Mongst you, old patrons, may she sport and play,
And with her lisping tongue my name oft say.
May the smooth turf her soft bones hide, and be,
O earth, as light to her as she to thee!
[tr. Fletcher (1656)]Fronto, to thee, to thee, Flaccilla mild,
My darling I commend, your lively child.
Oh! may no sable shades make her more pale,
Nor the Tartarean dog the Love assail.
Six times the rig'rous solstice had the run,
Has she survey'd six times another sun.
Mid her old patrons, may the prattler play;
And lisp my name, as in the realms of day.
To her soft bones no turf oppressive be:
O earth lie light on her, who lay so light on thee.
[tr. Elphinston (1782), Book 9, ep. 18]O my father, Fronto! and my mother, Flacilla! I commend to you, in the realm below, this damsel, my delight and the object of my kisses, lest Erotion be terrified at the dark shades, and at the enormous mouth of the dog of Tartarus. She would have completed her sixth winter if she had lived six days longer. May she continue her sportive ways under your reverend patronage, and may she garrulously stammer forth my name! May the turf lie lightly on her delicate bones; you ought not, O earth, to be heavy to her; she was not so to thee!
[tr. Amos (1858) ep. 35]To you, O Fronto my father, and to you, O Flaccilla my mother, I commend this child, the little Erotion, my joy and my delight, that she may not be terrified at the dark shades and at the monstrous mouth of the dog of Tartarus. She would just have passed the cold of a sixth winter, had she lived but six days longer. Between protectors so venerable may she sport and play, and with lisping speech babble my name. Let no rude turf cover her tender bones, and press not heavy on her, O earth; she pressed but lightly on thee.
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1859)]To you -- dun spectres to forefend
And yon Tartarean monster dread --
This little maiden I commend,
Dead parents of my darling dead!
Had only my Erotion's span
While just so many days were told,
Been lengthened out to dwell with man,
She had been then six winters old.
Still sportive may she spend her days,
And lisp my name with prattling tongue;
Nor chide her little wanton ways,
Mid friends so old, and she so young.
Soft be the turf that shrouds her bed,
For delicate and soft was she.
And, Earth, lie lightly o'er her head,
For light the steps she laid on thee.
[tr. Webb (1879)]Mother and sire, to you do I commend
Tiny Erotion, who must now descend,
A child, among the shadows, and appear
Before hell's bandog and hell's gondolier.
Of six hoar winters she had felt the cold,
But lacked six days of being six years old.
Now she must come, all playful, to that place
Where the great ancients sit with reverend face;
Now lisping, as she used, of whence she came,
Perchance she names and stumbles at my name.
O'er these so fragile bones, let there be laid
A plaything for a turf; and for that maid
That ran so lightly footed in her mirth
Upon thy breast -- lie lightly, mother earth!
[tr. Stevenson (1884)]To thee, father Fronto, to thee, mother Flacilla, commend this maid, my sweetheart and my darling, that tiny Erotion may not shudder at the dark shades and the Tartarean hound's stupendous jaws. She would have completed only her sixth cold winter had she not lived as many days too few. Beside protectors so aged let her lightly play, and prattle my name with lisping tongue. And let not hard clods cover her tender bones, nor be though heavy upon her, O earth: she was not so to thee!
[tr. Ker (1919)]Thou Mother dear and thou my Father's shade,
To you I now commit the gentle maid,
Erotion, my little love, my sweet;
Let not her shuddering spirit fear to meet
The ghosts, but soothe her lest she be afraid.
How should a baby heart be undismayed
To pass the lair where Cerberus is laid?
The little six-year maiden gently greet.
Dear reverend spirits, give her kindly aid
And let her play in some Elysian glade,
Lisping my name sometimes -- and, I entreat
Lie on her softly, kind earth; her feet,
Such tiny feet, on thee were lightly laid.
[tr. Pott & Wright (1921)]Flaccilla, Fronto, take her as I write,
My precious darling and my soul's delight,
Let not Erotion fear the shades around
And the fell jaws of the Tartarean hound.
Had she but lived till six more days were told,
She had survived six winters and their cold.
There let her play amidst our fellowship
And lisp my name with dainty stammering lip.
Her gentle head, Earth, with soft mosses dress,
And as her footstep light be thy caress.
[tr. Francis & Tatum (1924), #240]Mother Flaccilla, Fronto sire that's gone,
This darling pet of mine, Erotion,
I pray ye greet, that nor the Land of Shade
Nor Hell-hound's maw shall fright my little maid.
Full six chill winters would the child have seen
Had her life only six days longer been.
Sweet child, with our lost friends to guard thee, play,
And lisp my name in thine own prattling way.
Soft be the turf that shrouds her! Tenderly
Rest on her, earth, for she trod light on thee.
[tr. Duff (1929)]To thee, my father, and to thee, my mother,
I recommend this darling little maid.
Shield her from the dreadful hound of Hades,
Shield her from the dark infernal shades.
She would have known the chill of six cold winters
Had she lived only six more little days.
Amid such old defenders let her frolic
And babble my name as was her childish way.
Lie lightly on her, earth, O lie not heavy
Upon her bones, for she was light on thee.
[tr. Marcellino (1968)]Fronto, father, and mother Flaccilla,
hold my darling Erotion firm in your memory:
Don't let her diminutive soul shiver
at the dusky shades of Hell
or flinch at the monstrous mouth
of the watchdog Tartarus.
Had she lived six days longer,
she would have seen her sixth winter solstice.
She was always happy,
always at ease
in the company of older people.
I hope she will still, down there,
be gaily lisping my name, in her afterlife.
Oh green earth, rest lightly on her! Do not
bear down too hard on her there, who was
never a trouble or burden to you, here.
[tr. Bovie (1970), "Erotion (1)"]To you, my parents, I send on
This little girl Erotion,
The slave I loved, that by your side
Her ghost need not be terrified
Of the pitch darkness underground
Or the great jaws of Hades' hound.
This winter she would have completed
Her sixth year had she not been cheated
By just six days. Lisping my name,
May she continue the sweet game
Of childhood happily down there
In two such good, old spirits' care.
Lie lightly on her, turf and dew;
She put so little weight on you.
[tr. Michie (1972)]To you, the shades of my begetters, Fronto
and Flacilla, where you lie in sweet
decay, I commend with love the body
of my darling child Erotion.
A home-
bred slave yet tender as a golden dormouse,
rarer than the Phoenix, whiter than
an unsmudged lily --
guide her spirit home
so she may look for lights in Tartarus
and miss the snapping jaws of hell-hound
Cerberus. She’d have lived six shivering winters
if she hadn’t died that many days before
the anniversary.
Now let her play
light-heartedly in the ever-darkened house
beside such sure protectors.
May my name
be burbling on her tongue, the childish gift
of sorrow spent on age.
And monumental earth,
draw back eternal weight from her
small bones;
don’t be severe and tread
on her with gravity: she never did on you.
[tr. Porter (1972)]Fronto, Father, Flacilla, Mother, extend
your protection from the Stygian shadows.
The small Erotion (my household Iris)
has changed my house for yours. See that the hell-
hound's horrid jaws don't scare her, who was no
more than six years old (less six days) on the
Winter day she died. She'll play beside you
gossiping about me in child's language.
Weigh lightly on her small bones, gentle earth,
as she, when living, lightly trod on you.
[tr. Whigham (1987)]To you, father Fronto and mother Flaccilla, I commend this girl, my pet and darling. Little Erotion must not be frightened by the dark shades and the monstrous mouths of Tartarus' hound. She was due to complete the chills of a sixth midwinter, no more, if she had not lived that many days too few. Let her now play and frolic with her old patrons and lispingly chatter my name. Not hard be the turf that covers her soft bones, be not heavy upon her, earth; she was not heavy upon you.
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]To your shades Fronto, and Flaccilla, this child
I commend: she was my sweet and my delight.
Little Erotion shall not fear the darkened shades
nor the vast mouths of the Tartarean hound.
She’d have completed her sixth chill winter,
if she’d not lived a mere six days too few.
Now let her frisk and play among old friends
now let her chatter, and so lisp my name.
And let the soft turf cover her brittle bones:
earth, lie lightly on her: she lay lightly on you.
[tr. Kline (2006)]To you, my parents Fronto and Flaccilla,
I commend this girl, my darling and delight,
Don't let the dark shades and the huge-mouthed hellhound
fill my small Erotion with fright.
She would have known the chill of six midwinters
had she survived by just as many days.
Now let her lisping mouth prattle my name
to her old patrons, and she romps and plays.
Let no hard turf hide her soft bones. Earth, do
not press her harshly; she was light on you.
[tr. McLean (2014)]This girl, father Fronto and mother Flaccilla, I commit to your care, so that little Erotion, my pet and darling, may not tremble at the dark shades and at the monstrous mouths of the hound of Tartarus. She would have just seen out the frosts of her sixth midwinter, had her life not fallen that many days short. I hope she plays and skips now in her former patrons' keeping; I hope her hare-lip mumbles my name. Please let the turf that covers her bones not be hard, and, earth, be not heavy upon her, she was no weight on you.
[tr. Nisbet (2015)]I commend you this slave girl, father Fronto, mother Flaccilla, as she was my delight and the object of my kisses. May little Erotion not fear the dark shades nor the vast mouths of the Tartarean dog. She would have completed her sixth cold winter if she'd not lived as many days too few. Now, let her play amid old friends, let her chatter and lisp my name. May the soft turf cover her brittle bones: earth, lie lightly on her, as she was not heavy on you.
[Source]To you, my departed parents, dear mother and father,
I commend my little lost angel, Erotion, love’s daughter.
She fell a mere six days short of outliving her sixth frigid winter.
Protect her now, I pray, should the chilling dark shades appear;
muzzle hell’s three-headed hound, lest her heart be dismayed!
Lead her to romp in some sunny Elysian glade,
her devoted patrons. Watch her play childish games
as she excitedly babbles and lisps my name.
Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do
rest lightly upon her, earth, she was surely no burden to you!
[tr. Burch]
Wise is he who instead of grieving over what he lacks delights in what he has.
[Εὐγνώμων ὁ μὴ λυπεόμενος ἐφ’ οἷσιν οὐκ ἔχει, ἀλλὰ χαίρων ἐφ’ οἷσιν ἔχει.]
Democritus (c. 460 BC - c. 370 BC) Greek philosopher
Frag. 231 (Diels) [tr. @sententiq (2016)]
(Source)
Original Greek. Diels citation "231 (61 N.)"; collected in Joannes Stobaeus (Stobaios) Anthologium III, 17, 25. Bakewell lists this under "The Golden Sayings of Democritus." Freeman notes this as one of the Gnômae, from a collection called "Maxims of Democratês," but because Stobaeus quotes many of these as "Maxims of Democritus," they are generally attributed to the latter. Alternate translations:
- "A sensible man takes pleasure in what he has instead of pining for what he has not." [tr. Bakewell (1907)]
- "The right-minded man is he who is not grieved by what he has not, but enjoys what he has." [tr. Freeman (1948)]
- "A man of sound judgement is not grieved by what he does not possess but rejoices in what he does possess." [tr. Barnes (1987)]
- "A sensible man does not grieve for what he has not, but enjoys what he has." [Source]
She heard him mutter, “Can you take away this grief?”
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “Everyone asks me. And I would not do so even if I knew how. It belongs to you. Only time and tears take away grief; that is what they are for.”Terry Pratchett (1948-2015) English author
Discworld No. 38, I Shall Wear Midnight (2010)
(Source)
Roland and Tiffany.
A friend is one who rejoices in our good and grieves for our pain, and this purely on our own account.
[τούτων δὲ ὑποκειμένων ἀνάγκη φίλον εἶναι τὸν συνηδόμενον τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς καὶ συναλγοῦντα τοῖς λυπηροῖς μὴ διά τι ἕτερον ἀλλὰ δι᾽ ἐκεῖνον.]
Aristotle (384-322 BC) Greek philosopher
Rhetoric [Ῥητορική; Ars Rhetorica], Book 2, ch. 4, sec. 3 (2.4.3) / 1381a (350 BC) [tr. Jebb (1873)]
(Source)
(Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:
- "He who rejoices with one in prosperity, and sympathises with one in pain, not with a view to anything else but for his friend's sake, is a friend." [Source (1847)]
- "One who participates in another's joy at good fortune, and in his sorry at what aggrieves him, not from any other motive, but simply for his sake, is his friend." [tr. Buckley (1850)]
- "Your friend is the sort of man who shares your pleasure in what is good and your pain in what is unpleasant, for your sake and for no other reason." [tr. Roberts (1924)]
- "He is a friend who shares our joy in good fortune and our sorrow in affliction, for our own sake and not for any other reason." [tr. Freese (1926)]
- "The following people are our friends: those who share our pleasure when good things happen and our distress when bad things happen for no other reason than for our sake." [tr. Waterfield (2018)]
- "A friend is one who shares in the other fellow's pleasure at the good things and his pain at what is grievous, for no other reason than that fellow's sake." [tr. Bartlett (2019)]
- "A friend is someone who is a partner in our happiness and a partner in our sorrow not for any other reason but for friendship." [tr. @sentantiq (2019)]
To lose a friend, a brother, or a son,
Heaven dooms each mortal, and its will is done:
Awhile they sorrow, then dismiss their care;
Fate gives the wound, and man is born to bear.[μέλλει μέν πού τις καὶ φίλτερον ἄλλον ὀλέσσαι
ἠὲ κασίγνητον ὁμογάστριον ἠὲ καὶ υἱόν:
ἀλλ᾽ ἤτοι κλαύσας καὶ ὀδυράμενος μεθέηκε:
τλητὸν γὰρ Μοῖραι θυμὸν θέσαν ἀνθρώποισιν.]Homer (fl. 7th-8th C. BC) Greek author
The Iliad [Ἰλιάς], Book 24, l. 46ff (24.46) [Apollo] (c. 750 BC) [tr. Pope (1715-20)]
(Source)
Complaining of Achilles excessive grief over Patroclus. Original Greek. Alternate translations:Other men a greater loss than he
Have undergone, a son, suppose, or brother of one womb;
Yet, after dues of woes and tears, they bury in his tomb
All their deplorings. Fates have giv’n to all that are true men
True manly patience.
[tr. Chapman (1611), l. 50ff]For whosoever hath a loss sustain’d
Still dearer, whether of his brother born
From the same womb, or even of his son,
When he hath once bewail’d him, weeps no more,
For fate itself gives man a patient mind.
[tr. Cowper (1791), l. 59ff]For perhaps some one will lose another more dear, either a brother, or a son; yet does he cease weeping and lamenting, for the Destinies have placed in men an enduring mind.
[tr. Buckley (1860)]A man may lose his best-lov’d friend, a son,
Or his own mother’s son, a brother dear:
He mourns and weeps, but time his grief allays,
For fate to man a patient mind hath giv’n.
[tr. Derby (1864)]It must be that many a man lose even some dearer one than was this, a brother of the same womb born or perchance a son; yet bringeth he his wailing and lamentation to an end, for an enduring soul have the Fates given unto men.
[tr. Leaf/Lang/Myers (1891)]A man may lose one far dearer than Achilles has lost -- a son, it may be, or a brother born from his own mother's womb; yet when he has mourned him and wept over him he will let him bide, for it takes much sorrow to kill a man.
[tr. Butler (1898)]Lo, it may be that a man hath lost one dearer even than was this -- a brother, that the selfsame mother bare, or haply a son; yet verily when he hath wept and wailed for him he maketh an end; for an enduring soul have the Fates given unto men.
[tr. Murray (1924)]For a man must some day lose one who was even closer than this; a brother from the same womb, or a son. And yet he weeps for him, and sorrows for him, and then it is over, for the Destinies put in mortal men the heart of endurance.
[tr. Lattimore (1951)]A sane one may endure an even dearer loss: a blood-brother, a son; and yet, by heaven, having grieved and passed through mourning, he will let it go. The Fates have given patient hearts to men.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1974)]No doubt some mortal has suffered a dearer loss than this,
a brother born in the same womb, or even a son ...
he grieves, he weeps, but then his tears are through.
The Fates have given mortals hearts that can endure.
[tr. Fagles (1990), l. 54ff]There is no doubt that a man may have lost someone even dearer,
either a brother by one same mother or even his own son,
yet once he has lamented and wept, he ceases to mourn him,
since mankind is endowed by the Fates with a heart of endurance.
[tr. Merrill (2007), l. 46ff]
You are neither the first nor the last of mortals
to lose a good wife. You have to learn
that death is a debt we all must pay.[οὐ γάρ τι πρῶτος οὐδὲ λοίσθιος βροτῶν
γυναικὸς ἐσθλῆς ἤμπλακες· γίγνωσκε δὲ
ὡς πᾶσιν ἡμῖν κατθανεῖν ὀφείλεται.]Euripides (485?-406? BC) Greek tragic dramatist
Alcestis [Ἄλκηστις], c. l. 415 [Chorus] (438 BC) [tr. Leuschnig]
(Source)
Alt. trans.:Thou art by no means the first nor yet shalt be the last of men to lose a wife of worth; know this, we all of us are debtors unto death.
[tr. Coleridge (1910)]Thou shalt not be the last, nor yet the first,
To lose a noble wife. Be brave, and know
To die is but a debt that all men owe.
[tr. Murray (1915)]Not first of mortals thou, nor shalt be last
To lose a noble wife; and, be thou sure,
From us, from all, this debt is due -- to die.
[tr. Way (1984)]You are neither the first nor the last mortal
Who has lost a good wife. Understand this:
Dying is a debt we all have to pay.
[tr. @sentantiq (2020)]
CHARLIE ANDERSON: I’m not going to kill you. I want you to live. I want you to live to be an old man, and I want you to have many, many, many children, and I want you to feel about your children then the way I feel about mine now. And someday, when a man comes along and kills one of ’em, I want you to remember! Okay? I want you to remember.
James Lee Barrett (1929-1989) American author, producer, screenwriter
Shenandoah (1965)
The person who is sick in the body needs a doctor;
someone who is sick in the mind needs a friend
For a well-meaning friend knows how to treat grief.[Τῷ μὲν τὸ σῶμα διατεθειμένῳ κακῶς
χρεία ‘στ’ ἰατροῦ, τῷ δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν φίλου·
λύπην γὰρ εὔνους οἶδε θεραπεύειν φίλος.]Menander (c. 341 - c. 290 BC) Greek comedic dramatist
Fragment 591 K., in Stobaeus, Anthology [tr. @sentantiq]
(Source)
Alt. trans.:
- "For him who is ill at ease in his body there is need of a physician, but need of a friend for him whose soul is ill. For loyal words have the secret of healing grief." [tr. Allinson (1921)]
- "Sick bodies need a doctor, minds a friend; / Kind words have skill the mourner's pain to mend." [tr. Edmonds]
Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of Grief the blunder of a life.
Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881) English politician and author
Vivian Grey, Book 6, ch. 7 (1826)
(Source)
Yes, he thought, between grief and nothing I will take grief.
William Faulkner (1897-1962) American novelist
The Wild Palms [If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem], ch. 9 (1939)
(Source)
Sorrow makes us all children again, destroys all difference of intellect. The wisest knows nothing.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) American essayist, lecturer, poet
Journal (1842-01-30)
(Source)
Two days after he recorded the death of his son.
My son, a perfect little boy of five years and three months, had ended his earthly life. You can never sympathize with me; you can never know how much of me such a young child can take away. A few weeks ago I accounted myself a very rich man, and now the poorest of all.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) American essayist, lecturer, poet
Letter to Thomas Carlyle (1842-02-28)
(Source)
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the day-time, and falling into at night.
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950) American poet
Letter to Whitter “Hal” Bynner and Arthur Davidson Ficke (1920)
(Source)
The cots, the palaces and valleys here,
Are nought to me, their charm, alas! is fled;
Floods, rocks, and forests, solitudes so dear
One soul is wanting, and all else seems dead[Que me font ces vallons, ces palais, ces chaumières,
Vains objets dont pour moi le charme est envolé?
Fleuves, rochers, forêts solitudes si chères,
Un seul être vous manque et tout est dépeuplé!]Alphonse de Lamartine (1790-1869) French poet and statesman
“Solitude [L’isolement],”Poetic Meditations [Méditations Poétiques] (1820) [tr. J. Churchill]
(Source)
Alt. trans. ["Isolation"]:
"What for me do these valleys, these palaces, these cottages,
Vain objects of which for me the charm has fled?
Streams, rocks, forests, solitudes so dear,
One single being from you is missing, and everything is depopulated."
Alt. trans.:
"Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated."
I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings.
Raymond Chandler (1888-1959) American novelist
The Big Sleep, ch. 3 (1939)
(Source)
In the 1943 movie adaptation by William Faulkner, Leigh Brackett, and J. Furthman, the Phillip Marlowe line is delivered by Humphrey Bogart: "I don't mind if you don't like my manners. I don't like them myself. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them on long winter evenings."
Don’t agonize, organize.
Florynce "Flo" Kennedy (1916-2000) American lawyer, feminist, civil rights activist
(Attributed)
(Source)
Quoted in Gloria Steinem, "The Verbal Karate of Florynce R. Kennedy, Esq.," Ms. (Mar 1973).
The five stages of bureaucratic grieving are: denial, anger, committee meetings, scapegoating, and cover-up.
Charles "Charlie" Stross (b. 1964) British writer
The Rhesus Chart (2014)
Satirizing the Kübler-Ross model of grief.
There is a difference between tragedy and blind brutal calamity. Tragedy has meaning, and there is dignity in it. Tragedy stands with its shoulders stiff and proud. But there is no meaning, no dignity, no fulfillment, in the death of a child.
Walter M. Miller Jr. (1923-1996) American writer
“The Will” (1953)
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.
At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) English writer, literary scholar, lay theologian [Clive Staples Lewis]
A Grief Observed, ch. 1 (1961)
(Source)
After the death of his wife, Joy Davidman. Opening words.
He who has so little knowledge of human nature, as to seek happiness by changing any thing but his own dispositions, will waste his life in fruitless efforts, and multiply the griefs which he purposes to remove.
Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) English writer, lexicographer, critic
The Rambler, #6 (7 Apr 1750)
(Source)
I will never laugh at anyone for grieving over a loved beast. I think God wants us to love Him more, not to love creatures (even animals) less. We love everything in one way too much (i.e., at the expense of our love for Him), but in another way we love everything too little. No person, animal, flower, or even pebble has ever been loved too much — i.e., more than every one of God’s works deserves.
C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) English writer, literary scholar, lay theologian [Clive Staples Lewis]
Letter to Mary Willis Shelburne (18 Aug 1956)
(Source)
The more you join with people in their joys and their sorrows, the more nearer and dearer they come to be to you.
Mark Twain (1835-1910) American writer [pseud. of Samuel Clemens]
Tom Sawyer Abroad, ch. 11 (1894)
What sort of a lover am I to think so much about my affliction and so much less about hers? Even the insane call, ‘Come back,’ is all for my own sake. I never even raised the question whether such a return, if it were possible, would be good for her. I want her back as an ingredient in the restoration of my past. Could I have wished her anything worse? Having got once through death, to come back and then, at some later date, have all her dying to do over again? They call Stephen the first martyr. Hadn’t Lazarus the rawer deal?
C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) English writer, literary scholar, lay theologian [Clive Staples Lewis]
A Grief Observed (1961)
Are all men in disguise except those crying?
Daniel "Dannie" Abse (1923-2014) Welsh poet
Poem (1986), “Encounter at a greyhound bus station,” Ask the Bloody Horse
(Source)
He who walks through a great city to find subjects for weeping, may find plenty at every corner to wring his heart; but let such a man walk on his course, and enjoy his grief alone—we are not of those who would accompany him. The miseries of us poor earth-dwellers gain no alleviation from the sympathy of those who merely hunt them out to be pathetic over them. The weeping philosopher too often impairs his eyesight by his woe, and becomes unable from his tears to see the remedies for the evils which he deplores. Thus it will often be found that the man of no tears is the truest philanthropist, as he is the best physician who wears a cheerful face, even in the worst of cases.
Charles Mackay (1814-1889) Scottish poet, journalist, song writer
Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, “Popular Follies of Great Cities” (1841)
(Source)
We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.
Joseph Roux (1834-1886) French Catholic priest
Meditations of a Parish Priest: Thoughts, Part 9, #54 (1886)
(Source)
To have money is a feare, not to have it a griefe.
George Herbert (1593-1633) Welsh priest, orator, poet.
Jacula Prudentum, or Outlandish Proverbs, Sentences, &c. (compiler), # 591 (1640 ed.)
(Source)
The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we’d done were less real and important than they had been hours before.
Happiness is beneficial for the body but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.
Marcel Proust (1871-1922) French author
Remembrance of Things Past (1913-27)
Cares are often more difficult to throw off than sorrows; the latter die with time, the former grow upon it.
Jean Paul Richter (1763-1825) German writer, art historian, philosopher, littérateur [Johann Paul Friedrich Richter; pseud. Jean Paul]
(Attributed)
(Source)
In Ballou, Treasury of Thought (1884).
Sorrow preys upon
Its solitude, and nothing diverts it
From its sad visions of the other world
Than calling it at moments back to this.
The busy have no time for tears.George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) English poet
The Two Foscari, Act 4, sc. 1 [Loredano] (1821)
(Source)
LAFEW: Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
All’s Well That Ends Well, Act 1, sc. 1, l. 57ff (1.1.57-58) (1602?)
(Source)
Grief is itself a med’cine.
William Cowper (1731-1800) English poet
“Charity,” l. 159 (1782)
If you ask any police officer what the worst part of the job is, they will always say breaking bad news to relatives, but this is not the truth. The worst part is staying in the room after you’ve broken the news, so that you’re forced to be there when someone’s life disintegrates around them. Some people say it doesn’t bother them — such people are not to be trusted.
Ben Aaronovitch (b. 1964) British author
Rivers of London [Midnight Riot] (2011)
Endow the Living — with the Tears —
You squander on the Dead.Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet
“Endow the Living — with the Tears –” (1862)
Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
William Faulkner (1897-1962) American novelist
The Wild Palms (1939)
Even at the movies, we laugh together, we weep alone.
James Richardson (b. 1950) American poet
Vectors: Aphorisms and Ten-Second Essays (2001)
Bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love. It follows marriage as normally as marriage follows courtship or as autumn follows summer.
C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) English writer, literary scholar, lay theologian [Clive Staples Lewis]
A Grief Observed (1961)
In short, we can judge by nothing but Appearances, and they are very apt to deceive us. Some put on a gay chearful Outside, and appear to the World perfectly at Ease, tho’ even then, some inward Sting, some secret Pain imbitters all their Joys, and makes the Balance even: Others appear continually dejected and full of Sorrow; but even Grief itself is sometimes pleasant, and Tears are not always without their Sweetness: Besides, Some take a Satisfaction in being thought unhappy, (as others take a Pride in being thought humble,) these will paint their Misfortunes to others in the strongest Colours, and leave no Means unus’d to make you think them thoroughly miserable; so great a Pleasure it is to them to be pitied; Others retain the Form and outside Shew of Sorrow, long after the Thing itself, with its Cause, is remov’d from the Mind; it is a Habit they have acquir’d and cannot leave.
Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) American statesman, scientist, philosopher, aphorist
“A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity” (1725)
(Source)
Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand.
Unless, of course, you can literally believe all that stuff about family reunions “on the further shore,” pictured in entirely earthly terms. But that is all unscriptural, all out of bad hymns and lithographs. There’s not a word of it in the Bible. And it rings false. We know it couldn’t be like that. Reality never repeats. The exact same thing is never taken away and given back. How well the Spiritualists bait their hook! “Things on this side are not so different after all.” There are cigars in Heaven. For that is what we should all like. The happy past restored.
And that, just that, is what I cry out for, with mad, midnight endearments and entreaties spoken into the empty air.
C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) English writer, literary scholar, lay theologian [Clive Staples Lewis]
A Grief Observed (1961)
Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? It is because we are not the person involved.
Mark Twain (1835-1910) American writer [pseud. of Samuel Clemens]
The Tragedy of Pudd’nhead Wilson, ch. 9 epigraph “Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar” (1894)
(Source)
Excess of grief for the deceased is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know it not.
Xenophon (c. 431-355 BC) Greek historian and essayist
(Attributed)
(Source)
In Anon. Mental Recreation Or, Select Maxims, Sayings And Observations Of Philosophers (1831).
He first deceased; she for a little tried
To live without him: liked it not, and died.Henry Wotton (1568-1639) English author, diplomat, politician
“Upon the Death of Sir Albertus Moreton’s Wife” (1651)
I can’t think of a more wonderful thanksgiving for the life I have had than that everyone should be jolly at my funeral.
Lord Mountbatten (1900-1979) British statesman and naval officer (Louis Francis Albert Victor Nicholas Mountbatten, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma, b. Prince Louis of Battenberg)
(Attributed)
(Source)
Quoted in Richard Hough, Mountbatten (1980).
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go, — so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!
A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.
Thomas Mann (1875-1955) German writer, critic, philanthropist, Nobel laureate [Paul Thomas Mann]
The Magic Mountain (1924)
Never does one feel oneself so utterly helpless as in trying to speak comfort for great bereavement. I will not try it. Time is the only comforter for the loss of a mother.
Jane Welsh Carlyle (1801-1866) Scottish letter-writer, wife of Thomas Carlyle [née Jane Baillie Welsh]
Letter to Thomas Carlyle (27 Dec 1853)
There is such a thing as internal collapse. Despairing certitude does not infiltrate a human being without displacing and disrupting certain profound elements that sometimes constitute the man himself. Grief, when it reaches this pitch, routs all strength of conscience. These are deadly crises. Few of us emerge from them true to ourselves and steadfast in our duty. When the limit of endurance is exceeded, the most unshakeable virtue is undermined.
[Il y a des effondrements intérieurs. La pénétration d’une certitude désespérante dans l’homme ne se fait point sans écarter et rompre de certains éléments profonds qui sont quelquefois l’homme lui-même. La douleur, quand elle arrive à ce degré, est un sauve-qui-peut de toutes les forces de la conscience. Ce sont là des crises fatales. Peu d’entre nous en sortent semblables à eux-mêmes et fermes dans le devoir. Quand la limite de la souffrance est débordée, la vertu la plus imperturbable se déconcerte.]
Victor Hugo (1802-1885) French writer
Les Misérables, Part 4 “Saint Denis,” Book 15 “The Rue de L’Homme Armé,” ch. 1 (4.15.1) (1862) [tr. Donougher (2013)]
(Source)
Valjean "internally collapsing" at the realization that Cosette plans to leave him for Marius, and deciding to track Marius down to confront or even kill him.
(Source (French)). Alternate translations:There are interior subsoilings. The penetration of a torturing certainty into man does not occur without breaking up and pulverising certain deep elements which are sometimes the man himself. Grief, when it reaches this stage, is a panic of all the forces of the soul. These are fatal crises. Few among us come through them without change, and firm in duty. When the limit of suffering is overpassed, the most imperturbable virtue is disconcerted.
[tr. Wilbour (1862)]There are such things as internal landslides; the penetration of a desperate certainty into a man is not effected without removing and breaking certain profound elements which are at times the man himself. Grief, when it attains that pitch, is a frantic flight of all the forces of the conscience, and such crises are fatal Few among us emerge from them equal to ourselves and firm in our duty, for when the limit of suffering is exceeded the most imperturbable virtue is disconcerted.
[tr. Wraxall (1862)]There is such a thing as the sudden giving way of the inward subsoil. A despairing certainty does not make its way into a man without thrusting aside and breaking certain profound elements which, in some cases, are the very man himself. Grief, when it attains this shape, is a headlong flight of all the forces of the conscience. These are fatal crises. Few among us emerge from them still like ourselves and firm in duty. When the limit of endurance is overstepped, the most imperturbable virtue is disconcerted.
[tr. Hapgood (1887)]There is such a thing as spiritual collapse. The thrust of a desperate certainty into a man cannot occur without the disruption of certain profound elements which are sometimes the man himself. Anguish, when it has reached this stage, becomes a panic-flight of all the powers of conscience. There are mortal crises from which few of us emerge in our right mind, with our sense of duty still intact. When the limit of suffering is overpassed the most impregnable virtue is plunged in disarray.
[tr. Denny (1976)]There are interior collapses. The penetration of a torturing certainty within man does not occur without breaking up and pulverizing certain deep elements that are sometimes the man himself. Grief, when it reaches this level, is a panic of all the forces of consciousness. These are fatal crises. Few among us come through them unchanged and firm in duty. When the limit of suffering is topped, the most imperturbable virtue is disconcerted.
[tr. Wilbour/Fahnestock/MacAfee (1987)]
Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every new idea contributes in its passage to scour away. It is the putrefaction of stagnant life, and is remedied by exercise and motion.
Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) English writer, lexicographer, critic
The Rambler, #47 (28 Aug 1750)
(Source)
There is no wisdom in useless and hopeless sorrow, but there is something in it so like virtue, that he who is wholly without it cannot be loved.
Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) English writer, lexicographer, critic
Letter to Hester Thrale (12 Apr 1781)
CLAUDIUS: When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Hamlet, Act 4, sc. 5, l. 84ff (4.5.84-85) (c. 1600)
(Source)
Who never ate his bread in sorrow,
Who never spent the darksome hours
Weeping and watching for the morrow,
He knows ye not, ye gloomy Powers.To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,
To guilt ye let us heedless go,
Then leave repentance fierce to wring us:
A moment’s guilt, an age of woe!Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) German poet, statesman, scientist
Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, 2.13 (1796) [tr. Carlyle (1824)]
(Source)
Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919) American author, poet, temperance advocate, spiritualist
Poem (1883-02-25), “Solitude,” ll. 1-4, New York Sun
(Source)
Possibly the most famous of Wilcox' works, these are the first four lines (the only ones anyone remembers) of three eight-line stanzas. Wilcox was paid $5 by the Sun.
Wilcox' original title was "The Way of the World," but the Sun editor changed it to "Solitude." She kept that new title when it was collected into Poems of Passion (1883).
I shall change their mourning into gladness, comfort them, give them joy after their troubles.
The Bible (The Old Testament) (14th - 2nd C BC) Judeo-Christian sacred scripture [Tanakh, Hebrew Bible], incl. the Apocrypha (Deuterocanonicals)
Jeremiah 31:13 [NJB (1985)]
(Source)
Alternate translations:For I will turn their mourning into joy, and will comfort them, and make them rejoice from their sorrow.
[KJV (1611)]I will comfort them and turn their mourning into joy,
their sorrow into gladness.
[GNT (1976)]I will turn their mourning into joy;
I will comfort them and give them gladness for sorrow.
[NRSV (1989 ed.)]I will turn their mourning to joy,
I will comfort them and cheer them in their grief.
[RJPS (2023 ed.)]
Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with.
Mark Twain (1835-1910) American writer [pseud. of Samuel Clemens]
Following the Equator, ch. 48 (Epigraph) (1897)
When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.
Helen Keller (1880-1968) American author and lecturer
We Bereaved (1929)
Also in The Open Door (1957).
But pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy.
How frighteningly few are the persons whose death would spoil our appetite and make the world seem empty.
Eric Hoffer (1902-1983) American writer, philosopher, longshoreman
“Thoughts of Eric Hoffer,” New York Times Magazine (1971-04-25)
(Source)
To have gold brings fear, to have none brings grief.
[L’haver oro è un timore, il non haver un dolore.]
James Howell (c. 1594–1666) Welsh historian and writer
Paroimiographia [Παροιμιογραφία]: Proverbs, or, Old Sayed Sawes & Adages, “Proverbs in Italian” (1659) [compiler]
(Source)
Croesus said to Cambyses: That peace was better than war; because in peace the sons did bury their fathers, but in wars the fathers did bury their sons.
Francis Bacon (1561-1626) English philosopher, scientist, author, statesman
Apophthegms, #149 (1625)
See Herodotus.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.W. H. Auden (1907-1973) Anglo-American poet [Wystan Hugh Auden]
“Stop All the Clocks [Funeral Blues],” st. 3 (1936)
(Source)
This stanza is not in the original version of the poem, for the verse play The Ascent of F6 (1936) (with Christopher Isherwood).
Instead, it appears in the revised cabaret song that Auden wrote in 1937-1938. It is this latter version, less tied to the play, that is commonly collected, and that gained popularity when recited in the film Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994).
There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.
I cannot forgive my friends for dying; I do not find these vanishing acts of theirs at all amusing.
Logan Pearsall Smith (1865-1946) American-English essayist, editor, anthologist
Afterthoughts, ch. 2 “Age and Death” (1931)
(Source)
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another!
Anatole France (1844-1924) French poet, journalist, novelist, Nobel Laureate [pseud. of Jaques-Anatole-François Thibault]
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard, Part 2, ch. 4 (1881) [tr. L. Hearn (1890)]
(Source)
When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions and debates of mankind.
Joseph Addison (1672-1719) English essayist, poet, statesman
Essay (1711-03-30), “Thoughts in Westminster Abbey,” The Spectator, No. 26
(Source)
I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) English poet
“In Memoriam A. H. H.” , Part 27, st. 4 (1849)
Arthur Henry Hallam was the fiancé of Tennyson's sister Emily. Hallam died suddenly in September 1833.
Starving the living will not profit the dead.
Rex Stout (1886-1975) American writer
The Black Mountain, ch. 2 [Fritz] (1954)
Waste not fresh tears over old griefs.
MALCOLM: Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Macbeth, Act 4, sc. 3, l. 246ff (4.3.246-247) (1606)
(Source)
Speaking of Yen Hui, the Master said: “How sad — to watch him forge ahead so resolutely, and never see how far he could go.”
[子謂顏淵曰、惜乎、吾見其進也、未見其止也。]
Confucius (c. 551- c. 479 BC) Chinese philosopher, sage, politician [孔夫子 (Kǒng Fūzǐ, K'ung Fu-tzu, K'ung Fu Tse), 孔子 (Kǒngzǐ, Chungni), 孔丘 (Kǒng Qiū, K'ung Ch'iu)]
The Analects [論語, 论语, Lúnyǔ], Book 9, verse 21 (9.21) (6th C. BC – AD 3rd C.) [tr. Hinton (1998)]
(Source)
Regarding his finest student, who died young. Probable origin of a phrase frequently attributed to Confucius: "It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop."
Earlier sources use Legge's numbering of 9.20, as noted. (Source (Chinese)). Alternate translations:The Master said of Yen Yuan, "Alas! I saw his constant advance. I never saw him stop in his progress."
[tr. Legge (1861), 9.20]"Alas for Hwúi! I saw him (ever) making progress. I never saw him stopping short."
[tr. Jennings (1895), 9.20]Confucius remarked of the same disciple [Yen Hui]: "Alas! he is dead. I have observed his constant advance; I never saw him stop in his progress."
[tr. Ku Hung-Ming (1898), 9.20]The Master, referring to Yen Yüan, said: "Alas! I ever saw him make progress, and never saw him stand still."
[tr. Soothill (1910), 9.20]He described Yen Yuan: Alas, I see him advance, I never see him stop (take a position).
[tr. Pound (1933), 9.20]The Master said of Yen Hui, Alas, I saw him go forward, but had no chance to see whither this progress would have led him in the end.
[tr. Waley (1938), 9.20]What a pity that Yen Hui is gone! I saw him make progress, but I never found out what his limit was.
[tr. Ware (1950)]Alas! I only saw him advance and never saw him stop.
[tr. Huang (1997)]The Master said of Yen Yūan, "I watched him making progress, but I did not see him realize his capacity to the full. What a pity!"
[tr. Lau (1979)]The master said of Yan Hui: "Alas! I saw that he was making progress, but I never saw that he was stopping."
[tr. Dawson (1993)]The Master said of Yan Hui: "Alas, I watched his progress, but did not see him reach the goal."
[tr. Leys (1997)]The master, speaking of Yan Yuan, said: "Alas! I only saw him advance and never saw him stop."
[tr. Huang (1997)]Confucius talked about Yuan Yan, said: "What regrettable it is! I just saw that he kept going ahead, and never saw that he got any stopping."
[tr. Cai/Yu (1998), #230]The Master said about Yan Hui, "Such a pity! I only saw his progress; I never saw where he got to."
[tr. Ames/Rosemont (1998)]The Master said of Yén Hwéi, Alas! I saw him start, but I did not see him finish.
[tr. Brooks/Brooks (1998)]The Master said of Yan Hui, “Alas! I watched his advance, and never once saw him stop.”
[tr. Slingerland (2003)]Speaking of Yan Yuan, the Master said, What a pity! I saw him move forward. I never saw him come to a stop.
[tr. Watson (2007)]The Master, referring to Yan Hui, said, "It is a pity! I saw him moving forward but did not see him complete his journey."
[tr. Chin (2014)]Confucius said of Yan Yuan, "Impressive indeed! I always see his progress and have never noticed his pause."
[tr. Li (2020)]
Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrow which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) American poet
Hyperion: A Romance, 3.4 (1839)
When the Egyptians were drowning in the Red Sea, the angels in heaven began to break forth in songs of jubilation, but the Holy One, blessed be He, silenced them: “My creatures are perishing — and ye are ready to sing!”
The Talmud (AD 200-500) Collection of Jewish rabbinical writings
Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin, Perek 4, 39B
Steinsaltz trans.:At that time the ministering angels desired to recite a song before the Holy One, Blessed be He. The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to them: My handiwork, i.e., the Egyptians, are drowning in the sea, and you are reciting a song before Me?
Louis I. Newman, comp. The Talmudic Anthology, 103 (1945):When the Egyptians were drowning, the angels wished to sing. But God said, "My children are dying, and you would sing?"
We cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over our heads, but we can refuse to let them build their nests in our hair.
Proverbs, Sayings, and Adages
Chinese proverb
BOLINGBROKE: Grief makes one hour ten.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard II, Act 1, sc. 2, l. 267 (1.2.267) (1595)
(Source)
PAULINA: What’s gone and what’s past help
Should be past grief.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Winter’s Tale, Act 3, sc. 2, l. 246ff (3.2.246-247) (1611)
(Source)