Quotes About Sadness

The Japanese believe that sadness comes from an awareness of the fragility of life at the same time one is captivated by its transient beauty. The cherry blossoms. But that is a very superficial understanding of sadness, may I say. True sadness arises when we realize that the world around us is imperishable, and rather ugly.

There is a great sadness in knowing that men of genius are not able to transcend the limits of patriarchy. Had I but known that the works I so cherished had been done by human beings, not gods, and that great women, including feminists, had also once lived and worked, I suspect I might have been able to break free sooner from a whole host of fatally misguided notions. What we don't know can hurt us.

His face looked almost as gray as his suit, and the pouches beneath his eyes looked like little bags for holding all the sadness that his head couldn't hold.

A sorcerer and a harlot . . . There's something sad about that." He grasped her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. "There's something sad about all couples," he said.

We make a sad couple," she said, as though making a casual observation. "Why would you say that?" "A sorcerer and a harlot . . . There's something sad about that." He grasped her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. "There's something sad about all couples," he said.

I am sorry to say there will be no wedding today.

It made her eyes fill up with tears, and she for a few more minutes starting it over, replaying it, watching his lips say the words: We can be lonely together.

It was like a shadow had brushed over me, but a shadow on my soul, not on my skin. Took me a second to identify what it was, but I recognized the feeling instinctively: Nadim. And Nadim was sad. It felt weird. And at the same time, it felt like something I'd always, unconsciously, needed-sound, where there'd only been silence. Presence, where there'd been loneliness.

One of the failures of cellular communication is that tiredness often comes across as sadness.

I'm not fine. Soon, the tears will come. I can sense them building in the pit of my stomach, coating the belly of candy. They will come when I am alone in the dark, in my own bed, with no one to comfort me. I will mourn Laura then, in private. A Category 5 hurricane is building in my heart and soul, but right now it's offshore, waiting to make landfall, waiting to crush me.

One of the failures of cellular communication is that tiredness often comes across as sadness. But I appreciate your concern.

She smells like marijuana smoke. It's not a bad smell. Just a sad one.

She's sad in the way Laura wears glasses and Max has freckles and Beth is retarded. There's no reason, it's just the way it is.

But on my worst days, which are rare and of which this is one, I can get down so low that the bottom seems to be where I belong. I don't even want to look for a way up. I suppose surrender to sadness is a sin, though my current sadness is not a black depression but is instead a sorrow like a long moody twilight.

In this momentous night, however, he knew far more sadness than grief, and while deep sadness bruises the heart, it doesn't leave the enduring scars of profound grief.

Her grief was now doubled by his grief. She wondered how many heartbreaks a child so young could endure.

In a world sick with envy that leads to coveting that leads to greed that too often results in violence, it wouldn't seem that something as small as excellent muffins could lift a man's spirits, even during talk of murder. But that is the way of the world: sadness and delight, anger and forbearance, hatred and love—all woven together in every inch of the tapestry.

a sorrowing sky, the days and nights washed by the grief of angels...

The music was so mournful and emotional that it seemed like the only suitable thing to play.

it made her angry, and since she could do nothing with her anger, it made her sad.

The little girl's voice was thin with pain. "They were so pretty," she said. And then she died.

Living up the Moyea with plenty of small chores to distract him, he forgot he was a sad man. When the hymns began, he remembered.

Grainier still went to services some rare times, when a trip to town coincided. People spoke nicely to him there, people recognized him from the days when he'd attended almost regularly with Gladys, but he generally regretted going. He very often wept in church. Living up the Moyea with plenty of small chores to distract him, he forgot he was a sad man. When the hymns began, he remembered.

The women were blank, shining areas with photographs of sad girls floating in them.