Quotes About Sorrow

Renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly.

The end of 'City Lights' makes me cry every time I see it - when Charlie Chaplin walks by the shop window and the once-blind girl brings him a flower and pins it to his lapel.

The final scenes in 'Rain' are just like my mother-in-law when she would sit under the window in my sitting room - one foot in the other world and just holding on.

Wine is crying juice. Rum is worse.

A very powerful theme in fiction is that of loss.

What had he done to her? And why was he kidding himself? He'd never stop loving her. He

Goodbye, Luke. You were everything. You were all I needed. I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you. Maybe someday you'll meet someone who is." When

It's strange how can lose things that are still right there. How a barrier can go up at any moment, trapping you on the other side, keeping you from what you want. How the things that hurt the most are things we once had.

And so we sat there in the sickening sillage of the truth, neither of us angry, or upset, just muddling through this shared sorrow, this collective pity. And as much as I wanted to sound my tragic wail over the rooftops, and let go of the day, and crawl back toward that safe harbor, and give in to the dying of the light, and to do all of those unheroically injured things that people never write poems about, I didn't.

Friendship develops easily in the sunshine of joy and happiness, but the friendship that grows in the darkness of sorrow and tragedy has roots that are firmer and deeper, and blossoms that last much longer.

Grief. The state of mind brought about when love, having lost to death, learns to breathe beside it. See also love.

Through the fish-eyed lens of tear-stained eyes I can barely define the shape of this moment in time and far from flying high in clear blue skies I'm spiralling down to the hole in the ground where I hide.

But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

There are some kinds of sorrow that words can never reach, certain kinds of things you can never hold in the box of your thoughts, certain kinds of pain you can't soften in other people.

Come, young rain of tears; come gentle hands of sorrow. It's not as terrible as you think.

Sorg blekes ut og vender seg til stjernene men minnet om hester, kvinne føtter, barn strømmer fra deres ansikter over i gressets rike.

To love means to open ourselves to the negative as well as the positive - to grief, sorrow, and disappointment as well as to joy, fulfillment, and an intensity of consciousness we did not know was possible before." --

They died... Have you ever seen a baby elephant lying on its side, with its trunk inert, gazing at you with eyes in which there seem to have taken refuge all those so highly praised human qualities of which humanity is so largely devoid?

Amava appassionatamente l'umanità intera, ma in fondo non aveva nessuno. credeva alla sventura perché era solo. Per la speranza bisogna essere in due. Tutte le leggi dei grandi numeri cominciano con questa certezza.

When Christophe at last made up his mind to go to bed, chilled in body and soul, he heard the window below him shut. And, as he lay, he thought sadly that it is cruel for the poor to dwell on the past, for they have no right to have a past, like the rich: they have no home, no corner of the earth wherein to house their memories: their joys, their sorrows, all their days, are scattered in the wind.

I fancied my luck to be witnessing yet another full moon. True, I'd seen hundreds of full moons in my life, but they were not limitless. When one starts thinking of the full moon as a common sight that will come again to one's eyes ad-infinitum, the value of life is diminished and life goes by uncherished. 'This may be my last moon,' I sighed, feeling a sudden sweep of sorrow; and went back to reading more of The Odyssey.

Whilst the wolflets bayed, A grave was made, And then with the strokes of a silver spade, It was filled to make a mound. And for two cold days and three long nights, The father tended that holy plot; And stayed by where his wife was laid, In the grave within the ground.

From flophouse bed To poorhouse bread, all outhouse sorrow: I thee wed.