Cold were the lips, yet he kissed them. Salt was the honey of the hair, yet he tasted it with a bitter joy. He kissed the closed eyelids, and the wild spray that lay upon their cups was less salt than his tears. And to the dead thing he made confession. Into the shells of its ears he poured the harsh wine of his tale. He put the little hands round his neck, and with his fingers he touched the thin reed of the throat. Bitter, bitter was his joy, and full of strange gladness was his pain. .Oscar Wilde
About This Quote
It was the funeral of a friend of whom he had grown very fond. The old men who were invited to the ceremony they all gave him grief for his sadness. Although he had no way to explain it, he was happy to have another person learn about what he had lost. He knew that his suffering was not enough for them to understand, but that they understood that suffering is unavoidable. At the same time, he took joy in their suffering as it made him feel less alone.
Source: The Fisherman And His Soul
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