Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
It seldom happens that any felicity comes so pure as not to be tempered and allayed by some mixture of sorrow.
Illusory joy is often worth more than genuine sorrow.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the self - same well from which your laughter rises was often - times filled with your tears.
Who knows whither the clouds have fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, the heart forgets its sorrow and ache.
Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught: Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
