The heart knoweth its own sorrow and there are times when, like David, it is comforting to think that our tears are put in a bottle and not one of them forgotten by the one who leads us in paths of sorrow.

I wonder why the heart bleeds from our eyes

The sorrow which has no vent in tears may make other organs weep.

I love walking in the rain, 'cause then no-one knows I'm crying.

I am sick of the solace of sorrow, And fear what the prophets foretold; I am tired of the tears of tomorrow, And wish that things were as of old; I have felt of the force of the fetters, I have drunk of the draught that embitters, And all is not gold

Past tears are present strength.