No one is so accursed by fate,

No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto his own.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): Endymion.

None are so desolate but something dear,

Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd

A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 24.