Quotes About Sorrow

As Flamepaw leaped from the end of the tree-bridge and trudged up the slope toward the center of the Gathering island, he could feel every hair on his pelt bristling with a mixture of rage and misery.

Violetshine blinked back sorrow. She was following her Clan away from the two cats she loved best. A lump lodged in her throat as she pictured Tree alone in the deserted camp, but she didn't look back. She had made her decision. SkyClan was leaving the lake.

I was glad she was dead! Horrified, he padded into the clearing. I loved her once.

Death too quickly. Death without meaning.

Micah." Collapsing, Moth Flight pressed her cheek to his.

Oakheart was crouching beside Rainflower. Her eyes had clouded. Blood stained the rocks around her head. "She's dead." Oakheart turned and stared at Crookedjaw. "Our mother is dead.

Yellowfang dragged her gaze from Brokenstar and looked at Fireheart. Her eyes clouded with pain and grief as she murmured, "He is my son.

Juniperkit, who had barely taken a breath before he died, and Dandelionkit, who had never been strong, and who had slowly weakened until she also died two moons later.

he'd taken Squirrelflight to a place where only the dead could reach her.

All dressed up with nowhere to go. Walking with a dead man over my shoulder. Don't run away, it's only me.…

I never blamed my mom for the way things were. She was a victim of fate and cruel circumstance, like everyone else. Her generation had it the hardest. She'd been born into a world of plenty, then had to watch it all slowly vanish. More than anything, I remember feeling sorry for her.

Next day on returning I found him dead in the snow with his head on the sill of the door—the door of his puppyhood's days; my dog to the last in his heart of hearts—it was my help he sought, and vainly sought, in the hour of his bitter extremity.

Viniste a visitarme en sueños pero el vacío que dejaste cuando te fuiste fue realidad.

At times I see them as if I were walking through the streets of Pompeii before the eruption of Vesuvius. This is one of the historian's delights and, even more, his sorrow. If we see someone doing something for the last time, even just eating a piece of bread, this activity becomes wondrously profound. We participate in the transmutation of the ephemeral into the sacramental. We have inklings of eras during which such a sight was an everyday occurrence.

There are eras of decline in which the form our inner life is destined to take becomes blurred. In these periods, we stagger this way and that like creatures who have lost their balance. We sink from hollow joys into dull sorrow, and a pervasive sense of loss lends the future and the past a more alluring air. And so we maunder through remote pasts or distant utopias while the present moment vanishes.

death that tears away clumps of us folks, stuffs thousands of the living, freshly plucked into its sack.

The dead have no compassion for the living.

I dressed to their murmurs in the other room, their voices soft but strained, and I wondered if men ever talked like this, if their sorrows ever spilled into these secret cadences.

There are moments when the past ceases to be a form of the present. Rain and tears look alike.

The mother had taken the visitors' room to sleep in ever since the day two months ago when Death had walked whitely into that larger room and frozen with his strange breath the father of her youngest child.

I believe that I know and share the many sorrows and sad circumstances that a human being can experience, but I do not cling to them, I do not prolong such moments of agony. They pass through me, like life itself, as a broad, eternal stream, they become part of that stream, and life continues. And as a result all my strength is preserved, does not become tagged onto futile sorrow or rebelliousness.

Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge-from which new sorrows will be born for others-then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space it demands, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich.

The day before yesterday, as I was calmly reading ... I saw a reduced vision of my son Yuri's face, but dead, in a horizontal position, his eyes closed.

ROMANS 8:28, NKJV One of the most interesting and remarkable things Christians learn is that laughter does not exclude weeping. Christian joy is not an escape from sorrow. Pain and hardship still come, but they are unable to drive out the happiness of the redeemed. . . . Joy is what God gives, not what we work up. Laughter is the delight that things are working together for good to those who love God, . . . an overflow of spirits that comes from feeling good not about yourself but about God.