You will still have to taste the bitterness of mortality. Whether by the sword or the slow decay of time, Aragorn will die. And there will be no comfort for you. No comfort to ease the pain of his passing. He will come to death. An image of the splendor of the kings of men in glory, undimmed before the breaking of the world. But you, my daughter... you will linger on in darkness and in doubt, as night falling winter has come without a star. Here you will dwell... bound to you grief, under the fading trees... until all the world has changed... and the long years of your life are utterly spent.
I can sympathise with everything, except suffering. I cannot sympathise with that. It is too ugly, too horrible, too distressing. There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathise with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life's sores the better.