Quotes About Sorrow

Jesus wept" (John 11:35).

Juan no sabía lo que tú y yo sabemos ahora. Él no sabía que la tragedia del viernes sería el triunfo del domingo.

There are some griefs so loud They could bring down the sky, And there are griefs so still None knows how deep they lie, Endured, never expended. There are old griefs so proud They never speak a word; They never can be mended. And these nourish the will And keep it iron-hard.

The main thing in one's own private world is to try to laugh as much as you cry.

Glory falls around us as we sob a dirge of desolation on the Cross

This bed yawns beneath the weight of our absent selves.

Look beyond your tasseled caps And you will see injustice. At the end of your fingertips You will find cruelties, Irrational hate, bedrock sorrow And terrifying loneliness. There is your work.

I find it very difficult to let a friend or beloved go into that country of no return. I answer the heroic question, Death, where is thy sting? with It is here in my heart, and my mind, and my memories.

Grief works its way on people differently. Some sulk, or become morose, or weep and scream a vengeance at the gods.

Death of a beloved flattens and dulls everything. Connections do not adhere so closely, and important events lose some of their glow.

Sugar cane reach up to God And every baby crying Shame the blanket of my night And all my days are dying

My sorrow at leaving was confined to a gloom at separating from Bailey for a month (we had never been parted), the imagined loneliness of Uncle Willie (he put on a good face, though at thirty-five he'd never been separated from his mother) and the loss of Louise, my first friend. I wouldn't miss Mrs. Flowers, for she had given me her secret word which called forth a djinn who was to serve me all my life: books.

Death, where is thy string? It is here in my heart, and my mind, and my memories.

I hate to lose something," then she bent her head, "even a dime, I wish I was dead. I can't explain it. No more to be said. 'Cept I hate to lose something.

Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters of a worn-through soul. Moans Deep swan song Blue farewell of a dying dream.

He'd never get over her. He knew that without hesitation or doubt. He loved her. As deeply as it was possible to love another person. And God, he wanted her. Every day. In hit life. As much a part of him as he would be of her.

I want to go home." His first reaction was to shout, "Nay!" It took all his restraint not to shout the denial. A cold fist of dread clenched his throat and squeezed relentlessly. She wasn't happy. Even a fool could see that she was miserable.

Chrysander set a plate piled high with food in front of her then settled into a seat across from her. She piddled with her fork and toyed with the food, pushing it around the plate as she avoided his gaze. He sighed, and she looked up to see him staring at her. His expression was somber, as though he was enduring the worst sort of hell. She nearly laughed at the absurdity. To her horror, she felt the prick of tears, and his face swam in her vision.

Now he has to make a choice: admit the wrong he's committed, and live with the sorrow of knowing she could never be his . . . or rewrite both their destinies, and change that moment forever.

Grief wasn't a feeling. It was a thing that visited. It was a weight, a lead wall, and it pressed on her lungs and settled a shadow across her mind, until the only way she could inhale was through a gasp of anger.

The things that break your heart when you think there`s nothing left to break

Truly, it is in the darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow, then this light is nearest of all to us.

Once when I visited her, she scuffed around the house in pink pile-lined slippers you'd wear only while waiting for the police to discover you many days dead.

I'm so sorry for loving you, I'm so sorry.... But it was such a wonderful dream, my love, such a wonderful dream.