Quotes About Sorrow

My name was Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie.

Here's the thing, say Shug. The thing I believe. God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And some-times it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don't know what you looking for l. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, Lord. Feeling like shit.

I do not grieve in the abstract, but in the heart.

No one escapes a time in life when the arrow of sorrow, of anger, of despair pierces the heart. For many of us, there is the inevitable need to circle the wound. It is often such a surprise to find it there, in us, when we had assumed arrows so painful only landed in the hearts of other people. Some of us spend decades screaming at the archer. Or at least for longer periods than are good for us. How to take the arrow out of the heart? How to learn to relieve our own pain? That is the question.

Sighing, Irene said, Why is it that we can love so much that which only makes us cry? Susannah thought for only a moment, and then, with certainty, she said: Because it is that which calls us home to the heart.

Let us bring our attention to George's mother. She who came, weeping, and picked up the shattered pieces of her child, as black mothers have done for so long.

God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don't know what you looking for. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, lord. Feeling like shit.

The thing I believe. God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don't know what you looking for. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, lord. Feeling like shit.

But when I hear them together all I can do is pull the quilt over my head and finger my little button and titties and cry.

It does not matter to me: wherever you are grieving whether Paris, Damascus, Jerusalem, Bamako, Mexico or Beirut or New York City my heart, too, is bruised and dragging. There used to be such a thing as melodrama when feelings could be made up, but now there is bare pain and sorrow, a sense of endlessly missed opportunities to smile and embrace The other.

God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don't know what you looking for. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, lord. Feeling like shit. (Walker 2000: 166)

America why are your libraries full of tears?

I am miserable now—not feeling unhappiness, just lack of life coming to me and coming out of me—resignation to getting nothing and seeking nothing, staying behind shell. The glare of unknown love, human, unhad by me,—the tenderness I never had. I don't want to be just a nothing, a sick blank, withdrawal into myself forever. I just want something, beside the emptiness I've carried around in me all my life.

No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried.

Lorsque je dormais loin de vous, Dans un rêve toujours le même, Je vous voyais à mes genoux Me dire chaque nuit : « Je t'aime ! » Maintenant que tu m'appartiens, Dans les bras chaque nuit je rêve Que tu pars, qu'un méchant t'enlève Et que je meurs quand tu reviens

Work was a balm. Adrenaline distracted him from sorrow.

It's okay," I said, holding her, starting to cry myself. "It's not okay," said Jane. "But it's the way it is.

Beneath their wary smiles, the people were warm and friendly. They had known sorrow and loss, but their spirit survived.

I've killed him," she murmured. "I've killed Donald the Grim. Faith, what will become of me? I've killed a man who stood as guardian to me. I'll go to Hell, as sure as I stand here." Kneeling swiftly

Peyton Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.

In many instances nothing marked the spot where lay the vestiges of some poor mortal-who, leaving a large circle of sorrowing friends, had been left by them in turn-except a depression in the earth, more lasting than that in the spirits of the mourners.

Grom-gil-Gorm," she said softly as she rode between Laithlin and Yarvi. "Breaker of Swords." Mother Isriun's horse shied back out of her way. "Maker of Orphans." Thorn reined in beside him, his frowning face lit red by the blazing light of her elf-bangle, and she leaned from her saddle to whisper. "Your death comes.

Wine can keep a happy man happy, on occasion. A sad one it always makes worse.