A part of Mortal Immortal, by Mary Shelley:
Soon after this eventful day, I became the husband of Bertha. I ceased to be the scholar of Cornelius, but I continued his friend. I always felt grateful to him for having, unaware, procured me that delicious draught of a divine elixir, which, instead of curing me of love **(**sad cure! solitary and joyless remedy for evils which seem blessings to the memory****), had inspired me with courage and resolution, thus winning for me an inestimable treasure in my Bertha.
How come evils seem blessings to the memory?
It doesn't seem to be very logical.