The happiness which is lacking makes one think even the happiness one has unbearable.

I look at what I have and think myself unhappy; others look at what I have and think me happy

There is even a happiness - that makes the heart afraid.

Solitude vivifies; isolation kills.

We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.

Poetry is the exquisite expression of exquisite expressions.