awers,Clarke MacArthur Tröjor, and weepas they think of the tiny feet whose toddling march is done, andsweet-faced young ones who place each night beneath their pillow somelock that once curled on a boyish head that the salt waves have kissedto death, will call me a nasty cynical brute and say I'm talkingnonsense; but I believe, nevertheless,NHL Mens Boston Bruins Rinkside Grayton Pullover Hoodie - Black, that if they will askthemselves truthfully whether they find it unpleasant to dwell thus ontheir sorrow, they will be compelled to answer "No." Tears are assweet as laughter to some natures. The proverbial Englishman,Canada Goose Citadel Parka, we knowfrom old chronicler Froissart, takes his pleasures sadly,Adam Graves Tröjor, and theEnglishwoman goes a step further and takes her pleasures in sadnessitself.
I am not sneering. I would not for a moment sneer at anything thathelps to keep hearts tender in this hard old world. We men are coldand common-sensed enough for all; we would not have women the same.
No, no,Ondrej Pavelec Tröjor, ladies dear,Air Jordan Retro 13 Męskie, be always sentimental and soft-hearted, as youare--be the soothing butter to our coarse dry bread. Besides,Mark Letestu Tröjor,sentiment is to women what fun is to us. They do not care for ourhumor, surely it would be unfair to deny them their grief. And whoshall say that their mode of enjoyment is not as sensible as ours?
Why assume that a doubled-up body, a contorted,Carolina Hurricanes Tröjor, purple face, and agaping mouth emitting a series of ear-splitting shrieks point to astate of more intelligent happiness than a pensive face reposing upona little white hand,Ralph Lauren Pony Polos, and a pair of gentle tear-dimmed eyes lookingback through Time's dark avenue upon a fading past?
I am glad when I see Regret walked with as a friend--glad because Iknow the saltness has been washed from out the tears, and that thesting must have been plucked from the beautiful face of Sorrow ere wedare press her pale lips to ours. Time has laid his healing hand uponthe wound when we can look back upon the pain we once fainted underand no bitterness or despair rises in our hearts. The burden is nolonger heavy when we have for our past troubles only the same sweetmingling of pleasure and pity that we feel when old knight-heartedColonel Newcome answers "_adsum_" to the great roll-call, or when Tomand Maggie Tulliver,John Tavares Tröjor, clasping hands through the mists that havedivided them, go down, locked in each other's arms,Semyon Varlamov Tröjor, beneath theswollen waters of the Floss.
Talking of poor Tom and Maggie Tulliver brings to my mind a saying ofGeorge Eliot's in connection with this subject of melancholy. Shespeaks somewhere of the "sadness of a summer's evening." Howwonderfully true--like everything that came from that wonderfulpen--the observation is! Who has not felt the sorrowful enchantmentof those lingering sunsets? The world belongs to Melancholy then,Oliver Ekman-Larsson Tröjor, athoughtful deep-eyed maiden who loves not the glare of day. It is nottill "light thickens and the crow wings to the rocky wood" that shesteals forth from her groves. Her palace is in twilight land. It isthere she meets us. At her shadowy gate she takes our hand in hersand walks beside us through her mystic realm. We see no form, butseem to hear the rustling of her wings.
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