Solitude is the worst of all companions when we seek comfort and oblivion.—Méry.
Sophistry.—The juggle of sophistry consists, for the most part, in using a word in one sense in all the premises, and in another sense in the conclusion.—Coleridge.
There is no error which hath not some appearance of probability resembling truth, which, when men who study to be singular find out, straining reason, they then publish to the world matter of contention and jangling.—Sir W. Raleigh.
Sorrow.—Our sweetest songs are those which tell of saddest thought.—Shelley.
If hearty sorrow be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender it here; I do as truly suffer as e'er I did commit.—Shakespeare.
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.—Gray.
The man who has learned to triumph over sorrow wears his miseries as though they were sacred fillets upon his brow, and nothing is so entirely admirable as a man bravely wretched.—Seneca.
Sorrow more beautiful than beauty's self.—Keats.
The violence of sorrow is not at the first to be striven withal; being, like a mighty beast, sooner tamed with following than overthrown by withstanding.—Sir P. Sidney.
Never morning wore to evening, but some heart did break.—Tennyson.