Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
Death is a fearful thing.
No evil lost is wailed when it is gone.
He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; With them forgive yourself.