When we hear oxymoron
we think that those
who eat oxen become morons
.. their brains occluded
by animal fat
read more

When we hear oxymoron
we think that those
who eat oxen become morons
.. their brains occluded
by animal fat
.. cannot receive oxygen
When we hear Oxfam
we think famine..
that those who promote
oxeating
create famine.

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.]

Tearless grief bleeds inwardly.

Tearless grief bleeds inwardly.

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes read more

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,
read more

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,
Have written strange defeatures in my face.

He that conceals his grief finds no remedy for it

He that conceals his grief finds no remedy for it

Great grief does not of itself put an end itself.
[Lat., Magnus sibi ipse non facit finem dolor.]

Great grief does not of itself put an end itself.
[Lat., Magnus sibi ipse non facit finem dolor.]

If our inward griefs were seen written on our brow, how many
would be pitied who are now envied!
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If our inward griefs were seen written on our brow, how many
would be pitied who are now envied!
[It., Se a ciascun l'interno affanno
Si leggesse in fronte scritto,
Quanti mai, che invidia fanno,
Ci farebbero pieta!]

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.