Quotes About Sorrow

She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagant emotion.

and the young do not tell themselves to the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so many sorrows and the causes of them.

I know now the span of my life. God help me!

I pity your poor bleeding heart

ever there was a woman who was all perfection, that one is my poor wronged darling.

Oh, if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that way madness lies!

j'ai eu, ces derniers temps, tant de chagrin et d'inquiétude que je sens qu'il me serait impossible d'en supporter davantage ! Sans doute les larmes font-elles du bien parfois ; sans doute rafraîchissent-elles l'atmosphère comme le fait la pluie…

Ah, amigo mío, no entiendes nada. Crees que no estoy triste porque me río. Lloraba mientras me ahogaba de risa. Tampoco creas que solo experimento tristeza cuando lloro. No olvides jamás que la risa que llama a la puerta y que pregunta: «¿Puedo entrar?», no es la verdadera risa. No, la risa es un rey que llega cuando y como le place. No pide permiso, ya que solo el suyo importa.

It is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play.

is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart

I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.

There was a coldness and loneliness in the world, and I felt that I had lost something without getting anything in return...

But that moment, the one that was supposed to be so special, had turned into an ache that would never heal.

And later my macabre joy sours and I'm weeping for myself, unable to find solace in any of this, crying out, sobbing, I just want to be loved, cursing the earth and everything I have been taught: principles, distinctions, choices, morals, compromises, knowledge, unity, prayer - all of it was wrong, without any final purpose.

And later my macabre joy sours and I'm weeping for myself, unable to find solace in any of this, crying out, sobbing "I just want to be loved," cursing the earth and everything I have been taught:

And later my macabre joy sours and I'm weeping for myself, unable to find solace in any of this, crying out, sobbing "I just want to be loved," cursing the earth and everything I have been taught: principles, distinctions, choices, morals, compromises, knowledge, unity, prayer—all of it was wrong, without any final purpose. All it came down to was: die or adapt.

While walking back to the highway I stop, choke back a sob, my throat tightens. I just want to... Facing the skyline, through all the baby talk, I murmur, keep the game going. As I stand, frozen in position, an old woman emerges behind a Threepenny Opera poster at a deserted bus stop and she's homeless and begging, hobbling over, her face covered with sores that look like bugs, holding out a shaking red hand. Oh will you please go away? I sigh. She tells me to get a haircut.

So if God is forgotten, we want to join God in being forgotten. So if God is rejected and opposed and misunderstood and misrepresented, we want to suffer each indignity and sorrow with God.

I should never have loved him . . I should never love anyone because it ends up being worse than being alone.

They say it's the worst pain imaginable, losing a child. But that wasn't my experience. Don't get me wrong, my son's death just about destroyed me. But if I'm being honest, nothing will ever hurt quite so deeply as the moment I heard the first person I ever really loved was gone.

life brings you everything at once. You can be in misery because of the misery of your daughter at the same time as you're exhilarated by a new romance, a romance that feels like the first act of a new life.

I didn't mean it' he said again. She tried to smile, but had to sniff instead. Her face was wet, and her nose was running. He thought she looked beautiful.

Relatives watching wanted and expected me to break down and cry, thereby devaluing my inner sorrow. Maybe if I had not stayed in cold England for eighteen years - England, a country where people cry in their hearts and not with their eyes - I would have done so. Eighteen years is a long time, and like the people I live with, I cried in my heart.

And, having killed him (Abhimanyu), your people danced round his dead body like savage hunters exulting over their prey. All good men in the army were grieved and tears rolled from their eyes. Even the birds of prey, that circled overhead making noises seemed to cry 'Not thus! Not thus!