Quotes About Sorrow

Death is great. We are his completely with laughing eyes. When we feel ourselves immersed in life, he dares to weep immersed in us. (Der Tod ist groß. Wir sind die Seinen lachenden Munds. Wenn wir uns mitten im Leben meinen, wagt er zu weinen mitten in uns.)

Der Tod ist groß. Wir sind die Seinen lachenden Munds. Wenn wir uns mitten im Leben meinen, wagt er zu weinen mitten in uns.

Wie meine Träume nach Dir schrein. Wir sind uns mühsam fremd geworden, Jetzt will es mir die Seele morden Dies arme, bange Einsamsein. Kein Hoffen, das die Segel bauscht. Nur diese weite, weisse Stille, In die mein thatenloser Wille In athemlosem Bangen lauscht.

Your smile more enduring, when it illuminates your sorrow.

How dear will you be to me then, you nights of affliction. Why couldn't I kneel more deeply and accept you, inconsolable sisters, or lose myself more freely in your loosened hair. We spendthrifts of sorrows. How we scan beyond them ahead into sad duration to see if perhaps they might have an end. But they are truly our winter-hardy foliage, the dark green of our life's meaning, one season of our secret year—, not only time—, but also place, settlement, shelter, soil, abode.

We were once, she says, a great clan, we laments. Our forefathers worked mines up in those tall mountains; among humans occasionally a cut stone of primal sorrow turns up, or a slag of petrified wrath from an ancient volcano. Yes, those came from up there. We were rich once.

Pietà Fills now my cup, and past thought is my fulness thereof. I harden as a stone sets hard at its heart. Hard that I am, I know this alone: that thou didst grow— — — — — — and grow, to outgrow, as too great pain, my heart's reach utterly. Now liest thou my womb athwart, now can I not to thee again give birth.

do, you cried

Something in Mama's voice was vast and high, like a rainbow; yet something sad and deep, like when the organ played in church, was around Mama's words.

Sorrow looks back, Worry looks around, Faith looks up

I grieve that grief can teach me nothing.

Sorrow makes us all children again[,] destroys all differences of intellect[.] The wisest know nothing[.]

Swing me in the upas boughs, Vampyre-fanned, when I carouse

Sweet is death forevermore.

In the truest sense, Christian pilgrims have the best of both worlds. We have joy whenever this world reminds us of the next, and we take solace whenever it does not. C. S. Lewis

We don't pretend all is well. But knowing God's commands to rejoice in him through his all-sufficient power, we meditate on his Word and call on him to impart his gladness to us. In time God exchanges our natural responses with his supernatural, joy-giving presence. Sometimes sorrow and joy do battle; sometimes they coexist, but when our hearts and minds are on Christ, joy is never far away:

SCRIVEN (1820–1886) wrote "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" after his fiancée drowned. George Matheson (1842–1906) wrote "O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go" after his fiancée rejected him because he was going blind.

here it was the whole world wrapped inside my arms And I let it all slip away

That's life for you, said MacDunn. Someone always waiting for someone who never comes home. Always someone loving some thing more than that thing loves them. And after a while you want to destroy whatever that thing is, so it can't hurt you no more.

There are smiles and smiles; learn to tell the dark variety from the light.

He stood and he only had one leg. The other was like a chunk of burnt pine-log he was carrying along as a penance for some obscure sin.

and it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman, while the hungry snake made her still more empty. How

Life gives us everything. Then it takes it away. Youth, love, happiness, friends. Darkness gets it all in the end.

Once the bomb release was yanked, it was finished. Now, a full three seconds, all of the time in history, before the bombs struck, the enemy ships themselves were gone half around the visible world, like bullets in which a savage islander might not believe because they were invisible; yet the heart is suddenly shattered, the body falls in separate motions, and the blood is astonished to be freed on the air; the brain squanders its few precious memories and, puzzled, dies.