Quotes About Sorrow

He walked into the shadows of his rooms; walked into the darkness that no light penetrated. And there, under a halo of gentle red, she waited for him. In silence he stood, while the time drifted by. Days passed thus, stretching out. What of it? He had time. They had time. He touched her hand; it did not move. Very gently he lifted her body, cradling it in his dark arms. Is this what you feel, Sara? Is this what you feel when you cry?

Oh, Christ. Word stuff, paper stuff, and that's neither words nor paper in that goddam little coffin, that's my son, my kid, my little dirty gap-toothed boy with the torn britches and the scabs on his knees, and he wasn't ever intended to ride thunder and bridle lightning, no man is. Pulp heroes were all made of wood and they could do it, but Dan's human and soft and easily broken. He hasn't any business there, no man has.

Gods, my gods! How sad the earth is at eventide! How mysterious are the mists over the swamps. Anyone who has wandered in these mists, who has suffered a great deal before death, or flown above the earth, bearing a burden beyond his strength knows this. Someone who is exhausted knows this. And without regret he forsakes the mists of the earth, its swamps and rivers, and sinks into the arms of death with a light heart knowing that death alone . . .

Once there was a certain lady . . . And she had no children, and generally no happiness either. And so first she cried for a long time, and then she became wicked . . .

Once there was a certain lady . . . And she had no children, and generally no happiness either. And so first she cried for a long time, and then she became wicked . . .

Whether I am a fool or a villain I know not; but this is certain, I am also most deserving of pity—perhaps more than she. My soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything is of little moment. I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day.

I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day.

Les joies s'oublient, les peines jamais

Sorbi cupa vieÅ£ii. Dar când sorbi, Pe dalbele-i chenare, Din ochii-nchiÅŸi, din ochii orbi, Curg lacrimile-amare. Când de pe ochi, pe-al morÅ£ii prag Smulgi ultima n?fram?, Vezi c? ÅŸi ce Å£i-a fost mai drag Ca v?lul se destram? Åži c? în golu-i aurit Din cupa cea m?iastr? Doar visul nostru l-am sorbit - Ea, nu era a noastr?. (Lermontov - Cupa vieÅ£ii )

Perhaps that's just why you loved me,' I thought. 'Joys are forgotten, but sorrows never.

Tereza had gone back to sleep; he could not. He pictured her death. She was dead and having terrible nightmares; but because she was dead, he was unable to wake her from them. Yes, that is death: Tereza asleep, having terrible nightmares, and he unable to wake her.

and I felt happy inside these songs (...) where sorrow is not lightness, laughter is not grimace, love is not laughable, and hatred is not timid, where people love with body and solu (...), where they dance in joy...

DehÅŸet bir ÅŸoktur, mutlak bir körleÅŸmenin zaman?. DehÅŸette en ufak güzellik yoktur. Bütün görebildiÄŸimiz bizi bekleyen bir olay?n gelip geçici ?????d?r. Öte yandan, hüzün olacaklar? bildiÄŸimizi varsayan bir tav?rd?r." Varolman?n Dayan?lmaz HafifliÄŸi

La tristeza era la forma y la felicidad, el contenido. La felicidad llenaba el espacio de la tristeza.

Porque Lucie, la mujer a la que tanto amé y que se me escapó de un modo totalmente incomprensible en el último momento, es, claro está, la diosa de la huida, la diosa de la carrera vana, la diosa del vapor, y sigue teniendo mi cabeza entre sus manos.

Mas neste mundo nada dura muito tempo e, por detrás das ondas decrescentes do alívio, subia a voz ténue do desgosto

Me gustaría tirarlo todo y volver a vivir la vida de otro modo y sólo por usted y para usted. Pero no puedo, porque en este momento en realidad ya no estoy aquí. Debía haberme ido ayer y aquí ya no soy más que mi propio retraso.

Beauté, la dernière victoire possible de l'homme qui n'a plus d'espoir

Ã…ËœeknÄ›te pane jaká je v tom moudrost, abych já byl pov?šen, protože jste se zamiloval do pitomé Agáty. Ani se už nedovíte, jak jsem se zamiloval já. Ta krásná smutná dívka byla služkou na zámku a já jsem se pak na ten zámek dostal taky jako sluha, pane. A to se nedovíte, protože mÄ› obÄ›sí.

Litost, baÅŸka dillere çevrilmesi olanaks?z çekçe bir sözcüktür. Adamak?ll? aç?lm?? bir akordeon gibi sonsuz bir duyguyu, baÅŸka birçok duygular?n bileÅŸimi olan bir duyguyu anlat?r: hüzün, ac?ma, piÅŸmanl?k ve özlem. SözcüÄŸün ilk hecesi, terk edilmiÅŸ bir köpeÄŸin s?zlanmas?n? duyuracak biçimde uzun ve güçlü bir biçimde vurgulan?r.

Åžair kendisini kuÅŸatan kederden söz ediyor;bu kederi kald?r?p uzaklara ta??mak,kederle ev kurmak istiyor,üç yüz y?ll???na oraya kapanmak ve üç yüz y?l boyunca kap?y? açmamak,kap?y? kimselere açmamak istiyor!

May my tears run just as far, that my love might never know that one day I cried for him.

Love is cruel as the grave.

Keep your love, I have no use for it anymore.