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The light, that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing.

My death, taking the light from my eyes, gives back to the day the purity which they soiled.

Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.

Red is the ultimate cure for sadness.

I am tired, beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little ink drops, and posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire of the great moon.

I put a limited time on the blues. I say, 'I allowed myself to be blue for four hours, and now I'm going to stop.'

And now, this is the sweetest and most glorious day that ever my eyes did see.

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Please your eye and plague your heart.