Iliad 19.27

The irresistible course of Time affects all mortals. All earthly things, ripened by Time, suffer destruction. Some, O king, slay some men. The slayers, again, are slain by others. This is the language of the world. Really, however, no one slays and no one is slain. Some one thinks men slay (their fellow-men). Another thinks men do not slay. The truth is that the birth and destruction of all creatures have been ordained to happen in consequence of their very nature. Upon the loss of one's wealth or the death of one's wife or son or sire, one cries out, saying 'Alas, what grief!' and dwelling upon that sorrow always enhances it. Why do you, like a foolish person, indulge in grief? Why do you grieve for them that are subject to grief?[74] Behold, grief is increased by indulgence as fear is by yielding to. This body even is not mine. Nothing in this earth is mine. Or, the things of this earth belong as much to others as to me. The wise, seeing this, do not suffer themselves to be deluded. There are thousands of causes for sorrow, and hundreds of causes for joy. These every day affect the ignorant only, but not him that is wise. These, in course of Time, become objects of affection or aversion, and appearing as bliss or woe revolve (as if in a wheel) for affecting living creatures. There is only sorrow in this world but no happiness. It is for this that sorrow only is felt. Indeed, sorrow springs from that affliction called desire, and happiness springs from the affliction called sorrow. Sorrow comes after happiness, and happiness after sorrow. One does not always suffer sorrow or always enjoy happiness. Happiness always ends in sorrow, and sometimes proceeds from sorrow itself. He, therefore, that desires eternal happiness must abandon both.

Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep: let your laughter be turned to mourning, and your joy to heaviness.

Thus in their woe, like kine bereaved Of their young calves,(287) the ladies grieved, And ever as they wept and wailed With keen reproach the king assailed. Their lamentation, mixed with tears, Smote with new grief the monarch's ears, Who, burnt with woe too great to bear, Fell on his couch and fainted there.

From pleasure comes grief, from pleasure comes fear; he who is free from pleasure knows neither grief nor fear.