Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator.
They either slay the man, or themselves die. Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on. The loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude.
Grief makes one so terribly tired.
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.
It was impossible to tell if she heard him; with their unspoken tales of infant tragedies, of troubles and pains beyond her years, the eyes stared drearily past his shoulder.
Elinor was to be the comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs.
Geteilte Freude ist doppelte Freude, geteilter Schmerz ist halber Schmerz.
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.