And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.

But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.

Grim-visaged, comfortless despair.

Horatio looked handsomely miserable, like Hamlet slipping on a piece of orange-peel.

I do remember an apothecary, And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had ...

If misery loves company, misery has company enough.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

Misery's fine - as long as you know you can get out of it when you want to.

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.

Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue But moody and dull melancholy, Kinsman to a grim and comfortless despair, And at her heels a huge infectious troop Of pale distemperatur ...