A merry heart does good like a medicine: but a broken spirit dries the bones.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue clings to my jaws; and you have brought me to the dust of death.
Heaviness in the heart of man makes him stoop: but a good word makes him glad.
A merry heart makes a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.
Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.
The spirit of a man will sustain him in sickness; but a wounded spirit who can bear?
I said of laughter, It is mad: and of mirth, What use is it?
So that instead you ought rather to forgive him, and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with too much sorrow.
For godly sorrow works repentance to salvation not to be regretted: but the sorrow of the world works death.