If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety.

If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety.

What impropriety or limit can there be in our grief for a man so
beloved?
[Lat., Quis desiderio read more

What impropriety or limit can there be in our grief for a man so
beloved?
[Lat., Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam cari capitis?]

The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief -But the pain of griefIs only a read more

The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief -But the pain of griefIs only a shadowWhen compared with the painOf never risking love.

Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!

Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone. -Harriet Beecher Stowe.

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone. -Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Let me moderate our sorrows. The grief of a man should not
exceed proper bounds, but be in proportion read more

Let me moderate our sorrows. The grief of a man should not
exceed proper bounds, but be in proportion to the blow he has
received.
[Lat., Ponamus nimios gemitus: flagrantior aequo
Non debet dolor esse viri, nec vulnere major.]

This grief is crowned with consolation, you old smock brings
forth a new petticoat, and indeed the tears live read more

This grief is crowned with consolation, you old smock brings
forth a new petticoat, and indeed the tears live in an onion that
should water this sorrow.

What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?

What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep read more

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world in such a strain
As it should deluge once again;
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,
I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds
And write thy epitaph in blood and wounds.