Quotes About Sorrow

when I came back, I found Mom sobbing at the kitchen table...Then I asked her what had happened. 'Nothing,'she said. 'I was thinking about that man...I started thinking about...if he and his wife and their other child are okay, and I don't know. It just got to me.' 'I know,' I said, because I did know. Sometimes it's safer to cry about people you don't know than to think about people you really love.

Deep under the earth, inside its cardboard coffin, shrouded in the layers of white paper, the china doll with the jagged open crevasse in its skull was crying.

There was no quiet, delicate crying, only body-wrenching sobs that clawed at her soul and left her with nothing but a sense of emptiness that she was afraid would never go away.

Oh, but it's our tears that make us human, Isabel.

I have knots in my years that I can`t undo, and this is one of the worst--the night I did wrong and Mauma got caught

I know. But it's got to be this way, that she isn't sure, so people looking at it a long time from now, women and men too, might feel badly, might even weep that at some ignorant time there was once a woman raped who was pressured, even expected, to kill herself.

Grief is savage, like love. I think maybe it's the same thing as love? It's love that is trapped inside you, a bird that can't spread its wings so it flaps violently in protest until it's exhausted and broken and utterly without hope. No, grief is not sadness. It's love that is desperately, urgently lost, an intense longing that pools in your lungs and balls up in your throat, so that when you try to talk it just pours out of you like sludge.

You're right. I have no heart because I lost it to you.

I see her in my dreams," he said. "Every night.

How do we do this?" she whispered, overwhelmed. "How do we bear the unbearable?" "Sometimes we don't," he said simply. "Sometimes we just breathe.

perhaps mortals are not formed for fairy bliss?

This creature softened my heart of stone. She died and with her died my last warm feelings for humanity.

lifeless body, lying twisted and

The sorrows of humanity are no one's sorrows, as newspaper readers long ago found out. A frisson of horror may go down one's spine at wholesale destruction but one's heart stays unmoved. A thousand people drowned in floods in China are news: a solitary child drowned in a pond is tragedy.

I felt the warm brush of his fingers pushing the key into mine all the way to my heart. I focused on the key because if I looked up, I'd see what he was feeling. Worse, he'd see what I was feeling -- in a minute what I was feeling was going to be spilling out of me, and it didn't make any sense. It had been over long ago; we had just finally got around to saying good-bye, that was all.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief. Aeschylus

Tears are words the mouth can't say nor can the heart bare.

Don't you find," he said, "judging from his picture, that his eyes are full of tears and that his lips are sad with a secret sorrow?

He said gloomily, despairing, sadly: 'How hard, oh, how hard it is to die and leave one's country no better than if one had never lived for it.

In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares.

How many tears could one body hold? How many could she spill before she drowned in them?

There was something shameful about surviving sorrow. You were corrupted. She was corrupted. She was no good anymore. She was inauthentic, apocryphal. She wanted to be a seeker and to travel further and further. But after sorrow, such traveling is not a climbing but a sinking to a depth leached of light at which you are unfit to endure. And yet you endure there.

Jane kneels and kisses her soiled son. David does not look at her. It is as though, however, he is dreaming of looking at her.

hThere was something shameful about surviving sorrow. You were corrupted. She was corrupted. She was no good anymore. She was inauthentic, apocryphal. She wanted to be a seeker and to travel further and further. But after sorrow, such traveling is not a climbing but a sinking to a depth leached of light at which you are unfit to endure. And yet you endure there.