Quotes About Sadness

And of our memories, of course. They have voices, too. Ask anyone who has ever lost a limb or a child or a long-cherished dream. Ask anyone who blames himself for a bad decision, usually made in a raw instant (an instant that is most commonly red). Our memories have voices, too. Often sad ones that clamor like raised arms in the dark.

Don't let your fear of instantaneous sadness cause you a permanent one.

Some of these images intricately make me feel that I know these places. I see them like I've lived them...a stirring that is so real. A longing a sadness a connection that pulls fully and really

Death is beautiful, part of life... No, it is sad. It's sad when anyone dies. Even though every single human dies. So it's really not that sad.

Everybody's got sad stories." Devon's voice was as ungiving as stone. "And everyone thinks they're so very special and broken because of them.

Life is sad. Here is someone.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

November Rain is a song about not wanting to be in a state of having to deal with unrequited love.

For a moment I had a strange intuition that just this, and in a real, profound sense, is life; and perhaps happiness even - love with a mixture of sadness, reverence, and silent knowledge.

I really love that dynamic between beauty and sadness...theres always these moments of quiet alienation, the sense of disconnect, but also, these moments of possibility.

Among the many signs of a lively faith and hope we have in eternal life, one of the surest is not being overly sad at the death of those whom we dearly love in our Lord.

Love is the funeral of hearts.

I'm giving you this because there is not much that makes me happy any more, but you do.

And when it came down to it, what was the point in reexamining your sadness all the time anyway? It was like picking away at a wound and refusing to let it heal.

She cried like someone heartbroken.

I thought he was the saddest person I had ever met, in those moments when I glimpsed him staring out the window.

And when it came down to it, what was the point in re-examining your sadness all the time anyway? It was like picking at a wound and refusing to let it heal. I knew what I had been part of. I knew what my role was. What was the point in going over and over it?

In truth, her grief made me uncomfortable. It was too close to a place I had been, and not long ago. I was wary of her sadness, as if it were contagious, and found myself looking for excuses to stay away from her, trying to keep myself busy so that I didn't have to absorb it too... And then I thought about his later years when I'd treated him almost as a part of the furniture. I hadn't written to him. I hadn't called him. I had just assumed he would be here as long as I wanted him to be.

In truth, her grief made me uncomfortable. It was too close to a place I had been, and not that long ago. I was wary of her sadness, as if it were contagious, and found myself looking for excuses to stay away from her, trying to keep myself busy so that I didn't have to absorb it too.

I tidied up a little, washed my uniform, and then, just as I was sinking into a kind of quiet melancholy, my buzzer went.

when it came down to it, what was the point in reexamining your sadness all the time anyway? It was like picking away at a wound and refusing to let it heal.

quieted into sniffs and hiccups, leaving her to shake

I couldn't tell him that I wasn't sad when i was with him. I couldn't tell him that he made me so happy I was afraid of it.

relationship. She had lost the man she loved.