It is comforting when one has a sorrow to lie in the warmth of one's bed and there, abandoning all effort and all resistance, to bury even one's head under the cover, giving one's self up to it completely, moaning like branches in the autumn wind.
~ Marcel Proust
If this doesn't cheer you up, you have a heart of stone.
As Oscar Wilde said, One must have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without laughing.