Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.

The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.

A sight to touch e’en hatred’s self with pity.

O sight of pity, shame and dole!
O fearful thought - a convict soul.

Extremely tragic is a good description of you.

Through this dread shape the suffering ages look; Time's tragedy is in the aching stoop; Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, Plundered, profaned, and disinherited, Cries protest to the Powers that made the world. A protest that is also a prophecy.

It is our own evil thoughts which madden us.

The sense of tragedy is that the world is not a pleasant little nest made for our protection, but a vast and largely hostile environment, in which we can achieve great things only by defying the gods; and that this defiance inevitably brings its own punishment.

Alas for the sight where, after dire grief, one sees a sadder sight with grief more dire!

I have a bit of a consummate victim in my head. That’s who I identify with throughout history. When I was 10 I would draw black eyes on myself because I thought it was cool. You’re so into people who are tragic. You want to be that so badly. But you probably aren’t really the tragic genius that you think you are.