“Not in the time of pleasure
Hope doth set her bow;
But in the sky of sorrow,
Over the vale of woe.”

“The heart bowed down by weight of woe
To weakest hope will cling.”

“What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,
And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe.”

“Oh, when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight?”

“For nature forms our spirits to receive
Each bent that outward circumstance can give:
She kindles pleasure, bids resentment glow,
Or bows the soul to earth in hopeless woe.”
Format enim Natura prius nos intus ad omnem Fortunarum habitum, juvat, aut impellit ad iram, Aut ad humum moerore gravi deducit, et angit.

“O fast her amber blood doth flow
From the heart-wounded Incense Tree,
Fast as earth’s deep-embosom’d woe
In silent rivulets to the sea!”

“Knowledge accumulates over time; it’s not just one person or one set of time but over many hundreds of years. That gives me hope.”

“If the heart sorrows over physical loss, the spirit rejoices over hope of understanding.”

“Spangling the wave with lights as vain
As pleasures in the vale of pain,
That dazzle as they fade.”

“Slowly doth bud, and slowly doth mature
The woodland oak, yet doth long time endure.
Lashed by the winds, her leaves around she steews,
But, the wind passed, her beauty she renews.”