Quotes About Sorrow

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, - Be these henceforth thy theme. (excerpt from Voices of the Night)

Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection!   Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.   Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike,   Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven!

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise Round their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish.

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow,   All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,   All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!   And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom,   Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, Father, I thank thee!

thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears  35 Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

Everything had life to me,' he heard Enkidu murmur, 'the sky, the storm, the earth, water, wandering, the moon and its three children, salt, even my hand had life. It's gone. It's gone.

The only nourishment He knew was grief, endless in its hidden source Yet never ending hunger.

Blue clung to Pyrgus and her tears turned to a ghastly, gurgling giggle. 'I'm Queen of Hael now, Mr. Fogarty,' she said; and she fainted.

A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy! All noble things are touched with that.

The sun hides not the ocean, which is the dark side of this earth, and which is two thirds of this earth. So, therefore, that mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true-- not true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon's, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe.

And here, shipmates, is true and faithful repentance; not clamorous for pardon, but grateful for punishment.

There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness.

Yet Dives himself, he too lives like a Czar in an ice palace of frozen sighs, and being a president of a temperance society, he only drinks the tepid tears of orphans.

That mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true — not true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon's, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe. "All is vanity." ALL. This wilful world hath not got hold of unchristian Solomon's wisdom yet.

But by her still halting course and winding, woeful way, you plainly saw that this ship that so wept with spray, still remained without comfort. She was Rachel, weeping for her children, because they were not.

Nevertheless the sun hides not Virginia's Dismal Swamp, nor Rome's accursed Campagna, nor wide Sahara, nor all the million miles of deserts and of griefs beneath the moon. The sun hides not the ocean, which is the dark side of this earth, and which is two thirds of this earth. So, therefore, that mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true -- not true, or undeveloped.

Pierre little foresaw that this world hath a secret deeper than beauty, and Life some burdens heavier than death.

The ineffaceable, sad birth-mark in the brow of man, is but the stamp of sorrow in the signers.

The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon's, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe.

What was sad in the world he did not superficially gainsay; what was glad in it he did not cynically slur; and all which was to him personally enjoyable, he gratefully took to his heart.

Dr. Louis Bush Swisher died from the complications of a brain aneurysm that burst without warning one sunny Sunday morning less than 40 years ago.

I loved downers, almost any kind. Loved the colors of them. Loved them yellow... I did. I would just have a bouquet in my hands at night.