Quotes About Sorrow

Grief is an emotion that's almost unplayable because you're in a separate emotional state; it's an inconsolable emotion.

Grief is a world you walk through skinned, unshelled.

To me, death is dark, pain, grief.

My mother had had six children in five and a half years, and three of them died in that time.

A hundred hundred heartbeats... whispered Sabriel, tears falling down her face.

So the Lord was sorry he had ever made them. . . . It broke his heart. —Genesis 6:6

I weep with sorrow; encourage me by your word. —Psalm 119:28

You know, when someone has been crying, something gets left in the air. It's not something you can see or smell, or feel. Or draw. But it's there.

For the first time in my life, I felt sorry for Jesus. Sorry that the miracles ascribed to him hadn't actually made a difference. Sorry that we were all alone in a universe where even our fathers would get us nailed to a tree if they were so inclined, or cut our throats if so commanded—see under Isaac, another unfortunate Jewish shmuck.

Or was this merely a riff on her unfortunate marriage? Her misfortune as part of his seduction?

L'être voué à l'eau est un être en vertige. Il meurt à chaque minute, sans cesse quelque chose de sa substance s'écoule. La mort quotidienne n'est pas la mort exubérante du feu qui perce le ciel de ses flèches; la mort quotidienne est la mort de l'eau. L'eau coule toujours, l'eau tombe toujours, elle finit toujours en sa mort horizontale. [...] La peine de l'eau est infinie.

He looked up in despair at the starry sky, he struck his burning chest with his fist; he loved and he was not loved!

He laid at my feet his immense, tragic love.

The fresh complexion of former days was gone. A mortal pallor covered those features, which he had known so charming and so gentle, and sorrow had furrowed them into pitiless lines and traced dark and unspeakably sad shadows under her eyes.

Though cast away am I from the heart of my city, black tears dribble from mine eyes at the sight of the fearful trail blazing towards her gates!

His eyes say quite plainly that he once trusted someone, that he has been repenting it for longer than you or I have been alive, and that he will never take the chance again.

She sighed, and all the gladness went out of her face, as the sunlight leaves the stone where a beggar seeks to warm himself.

By the use of the language of sorrow I had for the time being obliterated my sorrow—so powerful is the charm of words, which for us reduces to manageable entities all the passions that would otherwise madden and destroy us.

One ought to drink, I think, when one is cheerful already. Otherwise nothing but more sorrow is poured into the cup.

Hyacinth, who wept before sleep, had wept that night; he had wept too—had wept in joy and pain, and in joy at his pain. When tears were done and their heads rested on one pillow, she had said that no man had ever wept with her before. Two floors below them, their reflected images knelt in the fishpond at Thelxiepeia's feet, subsistent but invisible. There she would weep for him longer than they lived. He lowered his naked body into a rising pool, warm and scarcely less romantic.

Mingus had always known that that was what the blues was: music played to the dead, calling them back, showing them the way back to the living. Now he realized part of the blues was the opposite of that: the desire to be dead yourself, a way of helping the living find the dead.

you are the cause by which I die

Jesús de Sirach afirma: «Quien tiene el corazón alegre y contento se conserva vigoroso a través de los años, pero un corazón entristecido reseca los huesos».

Alas the day that gave me birth! Worse then my prison is the endless earth, now I am doomed eternally to dwell, not in purgatory, but in hell.