William Shakespeare Sorrow Quotations

Be merry; you have cause, so have we all, of joy; for our escape is much beyond our loss . . . . then wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.

That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel...

Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.

Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye.

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others.

Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed; nor doth the general care Take hold on me; for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.

Sorrow, like a heavy ringing bell, once set on ringing, with its own weight goes; then little strength rings out the doleful knell.

Verily, I swear, it is better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perked up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

My charity is outrage, life my shame; And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.

Here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.

Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.

Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace, for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.

Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.

Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?

Parting is such sweet sorrow

When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.

So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

Affliction may one day smile again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow!.

Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

Laughing faces do not mean that there is absence of sorrow! But it means that they have the ability to deal with it

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.

And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)

Sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.

How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face