But he, Tsemakh mused, was not like that. He had never even really wept at prayers, for he considered weeping a kind of passion- he was disgusted by the man who indulged himself with tears of self-pity. From his lips came no songs of praise or thanksgiving. He knew only one melody, the melancholy Musar melody, which cut pieces of flesh from one's body. Instead of feeling joy of soul at prayers, he also yearned and trembled to worship God with joy. But his soul was suffocated as if by prison walls, with his constant admonition of himself and others. While he chastised his pupils, he also envied their daily singing at morning prayers, "With abounding love hast thou loved us, O Lord our God..."
~The Yeshiva by Chaim Grade, Volume 1, 258