Once, when I was young and true. Someone left me sad - Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad. Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse. Once there was a heart I broke; And that, I think, is worse.
My heart hurt so much I can't believe it. How can it keep beating, feeling like this?
But the soul has no culture. The soul has no nations. The soul has no colour or accent or way of life. The soul is forever. The soul is one. And when the heart has its moment of truth and sorrow, the soul can't be stilled.
Losing love is like a window in your heart.
We must have faith during the period of our grief. We think that our afflictions will be greater than we can bear, but we do not know the strength of our own hearts, nor the power of God. He knows all. He knows every folding of the heart and also the extent of the sorrow that he inflicts. What we think will overwhelm us entirely only subdues and conquers our pride. Our renewed spirit rises from its subjugation with a celestial strength and consolation.
Only the broken-hearted know the truth about love.
The sigh, the groan of a broken heart, will soon go through the ceiling up to heaven, aye, into the very bosom of God.
Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow.
Music is one of the fairest and most glorious gifts of God, to which Satan is a bitter enemy; for it removes from the heart the weight of sorrow, and the fascination of evil thoughts.
Beer dulls a memory, brand sets it burning, but wine is the best for a sore heart's yearning.
