Franz Schubert

Every night when I go to bed, I hope that I may never wake again, and every morning renews my grief.

When I wished to sing of love, it turned to sorrow. And when I wished to sing of sorrow, it was transformed for me into love.

Nobody understands another's sorrow, and nobody another's joy.

Why do men fight who were born to be brothers?

The one complaint about the Internet that I wholeheartedly endorse is that most of these tools have been designed to peck at us like ducks: 'Hey, there's a new reply to your comment! Come look at it!'

All commend patience, but none can endure to suffer.