These are the days that must happen to you. — Walt Whitman, from “Song of the Open Road,” Leaves of Grass. Originally published: July 4, 1855.
I write a poem and delude myself that I’ve escaped sadness. I merely make it rhythmic, lighter perhaps. I do my best to make it beautiful, bearable, and for that reasonless reason I cry some more. — Adélia Prado, from “A Good Cause,” The Alphabet in the Park: Selected Poems (Wesleyan, 1990)
A brutal, relentless self-analysis lies at the heart of all despair. ― Marty Rubin
How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; — W.B. Yeats, from “When You Are Old,” The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats. Edited by Richard J. Finneran, (Scribner, 1989)