All artists today are expected to cultivate a little fashionable unhappiness.

Fate finds for every man His share of misery.

Where there are two, one cannot be wretched, and one not.

This is what I think now: that the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualified unhappiness.

Unhappiness does make people look stupid.

Is there anything men take more pains about than to render themselves unhappy?

Sadness is almost never anything but a form of fatigue.

Man can only endure a certain degree of unhappiness; what is beyond that either annihilates him or passes by him and leaves him apathetic.

For fate has wove the thread of life with pain, And twins ev'n from the birth are misery and man!

The world will never be long without some good reason to hate the unhappy; their real faults are immediately detected; and if those are not sufficient to sink them into infamy, an additional weight of calumny will be superadded.