Your joys and sorrows. You can never tell them. You cheapen the

“Your joys and sorrows. You can never tell them. You cheapen the inside of yourself if you do tell them.” — thus spoke Greta Garbo, the luminous star of the silver screen, whose silence was as famous as her beauty. Her words, like her presence, are shrouded in mystery yet burn with truth. Beneath their still surface lies the wisdom of the ancients — the understanding that the deepest emotions are sacred, and that to expose them too freely is to let the sacred be trampled by the careless feet of the world. Garbo, who lived in the glare of fame and yet sought solitude, knew well the price of overexposure — not only to the public, but to the self.

To the ancients, this restraint was not coldness but dignity. They spoke of the soul as a temple, a dwelling place for both joy and grief, and they taught that one must not throw open its doors too easily. The Greek philosophers held that moderation — sophrosyne — is the guardian of the soul’s harmony. The wise do not parade their ecstasies nor their sorrows before all eyes; they keep them guarded like sacred fire, for only within silence can the flame burn pure. Garbo’s words echo this truth: to speak too much of one’s inner life is to risk losing its power. Emotion, when unguarded, becomes spectacle; when guarded, it becomes strength.

Greta Garbo knew this not as theory, but through the burden of celebrity. The world demanded her secrets — her loves, her pains, her private joys. But she refused, famously retreating from fame at the height of her power. “I want to be alone,” she once said — a phrase misunderstood by many as pride, but which was in truth a vow of preservation. For she understood that what is revealed too easily becomes misunderstood, distorted, and consumed by others. To keep something for oneself — one’s inner sanctum, one’s unspoken feelings — is to preserve the wholeness of the soul against the hunger of a world that devours mystery.

In her time, Garbo’s silence was an act of rebellion. Yet history is filled with kindred spirits. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, wrote his deepest thoughts in a private journal, never meant for others. He ruled the vast Roman Empire, but his Meditations were whispered only to himself. In them, he confessed his fears, his doubts, his sorrows — not to the world, but to the divine within. It was this inner discipline that gave him calm amid chaos. Had he shouted those thoughts into the public square, they would have been lost in noise; kept within, they became wisdom that still endures today. Garbo’s silence was of the same nature — the silence of preservation, not of emptiness.

To cheapens one’s inner life, as Garbo warns, is to spend sacred currency on small things. In our age, the temptation to speak — to share every joy and every pain — is greater than ever. Yet every time we spill our emotions without discernment, we lose a little of their sacredness. The joy told too loudly fades; the sorrow explained too soon loses its depth. The ancients understood this law of the heart: that mystery is power. What is hidden nourishes; what is exposed too often withers. Just as a garden grows best when tended in quiet, so too does the soul flourish when its deepest feelings are protected by silence.

But Garbo does not counsel coldness or isolation. Her words are not a command to hide from love, but to guard its sanctity. Speak your joys, yes — but only to those who can truly hear them. Share your sorrows — but only with those who will not cheapen them by pity or judgment. For the value of feeling lies not in its expression, but in its authenticity. The wise heart knows when to speak and when to remain silent. Silence, when born of depth, is not emptiness; it is reverence — the quiet respect of the soul for its own mysteries.

So, my child, remember this: your heart is not a marketplace. Do not sell its treasures for applause or sympathy. Keep some part of yourself sacred — unspoken, unseen, known only to you and the heavens. When you laugh, let some joy remain secret, that it may warm you later in the cold. When you weep, let some sorrow remain within, that it may refine your strength. Speak only what uplifts, reveal only what endures, and let the rest live silently in the temple of your heart. For as Greta Garbo knew — and as the ancients taught — that which is hidden from the world does not diminish; it becomes immortal.