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Grief: Quotations from Shakespearian Quotations

Men Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness with a silken thread, Charm ache with air, and agony with words. No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under a load of sorrow; But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency, To be so moral, when he shall endure The like himself: therefore give me no counsel;— M. A. v. 1.

My griefs cry louder than advertisement. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended, By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the thief: He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief.— 0. i. 3.

I cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to me.— M. iv. 3.

Why tell you me of moderation? The grief is fine, full, perfect, which I taste, And no less in a sense as strong As that which causeth it: How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affection, Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,

continued. The like allayment could I give my grief; My love admits no qualifying cross: No more my grief, in such a precious loss.— T. C. iv. 4

The heart hath treble wrong, When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. Poems Some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit.— R. J. iii. 3.

My grief lies all within, And these external manners and laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul.— II. iv. 1.

A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder.— H. IV. PT. I. ii. 4

The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings To wash the eyes of kings.— A.C. v 1.

I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve: give not me counsel, Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.— M. A. v. 1.

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and makes it break. M.iv.3 Like the lily, That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, I'll hang my head, and perish.— H. VIII. iii. 1

Your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by its worth, for then It hath no end. M.v.7. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?— R. J. iii. 5

Had he the motive and the cue for passion, That I have, he would drown the stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed, The very faculties of eyes and ears.— H. ii. 2

Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doating like me, and like me banished, Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave.— R. J. iii. 3.

Grief softens the mind, and makes it fearful and degenerate.— H. VI. PT. II. iv. 4

There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes, And clamour-moisten'd: then away she started, To deal with grief alone.— K. L. iv. 3

O, insupportable! O, heavy hour! Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe Should yawn at alteration.— O. v. 2

Good, my lords, I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are; the want of which vain dew, Perchance, shall dry your pities; but I have That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns Worse than tears drown.— W.T. ii. 1

Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.— R. II. i. 3.

My lord ;-I found the prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks; With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife With gentle eye-drops.— H. IV. PT. II. iv. 4.

One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine eyes (caught the water, though not the fish) was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, (bravely confessed and lamented by the king), how attentiveness wounded his daughter: till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an alas! I would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there, changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been universal.— W.T. v. 2.

Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied. H. VI. PT. 1. iii. 3 Why do you keep alone, Of sorries fancies your companions making? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy— M. iii. 2

Should be without regard

And but he's something stain'd With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him A goodly person.— T. i. 2

I have in equal balance justly weigh'd, What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, And find our griefs heavier than our offences.— H.IV. PT: II. iv. 1.

All of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them.— R. III. ii. 2.

Why, courage, then what cannot be avoided, 'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.— H. VI. PT. III. V. 4.

Maternal

And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not such a gracious creature born. But now will canker scrrow eat my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek; And he will look as hollow as a ghost, As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of herven I shall not know him: therefore, never, never, Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.— K. J. 1. 4

He talks to me that never had a son.— K. J. iii. 4

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.- I will not keep this form upon my head, When there is such disorder in my wit. O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure!— K. J. ini 4

Grief And Joy

The violence of either grief or joy, Their own enactures with themselves destroy: Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.— H. iii. 2