Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others pain And perish read more

Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others pain And perish in our own.

You purchase pain with all that joy can give,
And die of nothing but a rage to live.

You purchase pain with all that joy can give,
And die of nothing but a rage to live.

The mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain,
And the anguish of the singer marks the sweetness read more

The mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain,
And the anguish of the singer marks the sweetness of the strain.
- Sarah Williams ("Saidie"),

There is purpose in pain,
Otherwise it were devilish.

There is purpose in pain,
Otherwise it were devilish.

Pain is no longer pain when it is past.

Pain is no longer pain when it is past.

And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens,
Are singing the selfsame strain.

And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens,
Are singing the selfsame strain.

Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
One pain is less'ned by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, read more

Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
One pain is less'ned by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish.

Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it read more

Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.