“There’s just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet having squandered a fortune far away. And how can you not forgive? You make a feast in honor of what was lost, and take from its place the finest garment, which you saved for an occasion you could not imagine, and you weep night and day to know that you were not abandoned, that happiness saved its most extreme form for you alone.” HappinessPoetrySadnessPoemAbandonment Author:Jane Kenyon
“And I knew then that I would have to live, and go on living: what sorrow it was; and still what sorrow ignites but does not consume my heart.” LifePoetrySorrowPoemDepressionLiving Book:Collected Poems Source: Collected Poems
