Quotes About Sorrow

I write about the power of trying, because I want to be okay with failing. I write about generosity because I battle selfishness. I write about joy because I know sorrow. I write about faith because I almost lost mine, and I know what it is to be broken and in need of redemption. I write about gratitude because I am thankful - for all of it.

No mother. Two small words, and yet within them lay a bottomless well of pain and loss, a ceaseless mourning for touches that were never received and words of wisdom that were never spoken. No single word was big enough to adequately describe the loss of your mother.

Terrible beautiful combination of happiness and pain.

In time, his grief had turned to anger and then drifted toward sorrow, and now, finally, it had settled into a lingering sadness that was a part of him, not the whole.

And maybe that was how it was supposed to be, how life unfolded when you lived it long enough. Joy and sadness were part of the package; the trick, perhaps, was to let yourself feel all of it, but to hold on to the joy just a little more tightly because you never knew when a strong heart could just give out.

Lost is lost; it's when you want someone to hold you but there is no one who can. Lost is alone, even when people are all around you.

Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.

When was the burning that of fire? When was it fear? When sorrow? That any gesture can be understood as the necessary, mostly incidental price the body pays for whatever response comes past gesture, past the body that made it: to what extent can this be said, and it be true? and it be false? Under what conditions? Under whose conditions? Thus the waves. Thus the light of the sun across them.

I know, released, she won't come back. This is different from letting what, already, we count as lost go. It is nothing like that. Also, it is not like wanting to learn what losing a thing we love feels like, Oh yes: I love her.

Ma nel castello delli antichi Signori, dopo il veleno antico, il ferro, e i libri del male, erano dolci, nobili donne: ed era la bimba che tanto aveva sognato, e così amaramente pianto: e l'immagine benedicente di Lei, che a ognuno sovviene: e nell'ora di male e di guerra e nell'ora che ha morte, stanco, il nostro pensiero mortale.››

This is time for us. Memory. A nostalgia. The pain of absence. But it isn't absence that causes sorrow. It is affection and love. Without affection, without love, such absences would cause us no pain. For this reason, even the pain caused by absence is in the end something good and even beautiful. Because it feeds on that which gives meaning to life.

But it isn't absence that causes sorrow. It is affection and love. Without affection, without love, such absences would cause us no pain. For this reason, even the pain caused by absence is, in the end, something good and even beautiful, because it feeds on that which gives meaning to life.

João amava Teresa que amava Raimundo que amava Maria que amava Joaquim que amava Lili que não amava ninguém. João foi para os Estados Unidos, Teresa para o convento, Raimundo morreu de desastre, Maria ficou para tia, Joaquim suicidou-se e Lili casou com J. Pinto Fernandes que não tinha entrado na história.

Oh mother. I didn't know that when you died, I'd never be me anymore.

I was an angel of the desert. In your arms I broke my wings.

Aún era yo la criatura encogida y amargada a la que le han roto un sueño.

Como una bandada de cuervos posados en las ramas del árbol del ahorcado, así las amigas de Angustias estaban sentadas, vestidas de negro, en su cuarto, aquellos días.

Grief was a strange companion. At first it had hit hard and strong, like a blast of frigid wind, a shuddering blow that left no air in his body. Then it subsided for a while, rising up from time to time like an adder, coiled and poised to sink its teeth into the flesh of its victim. Ian had tried outrunning it, then fighting it, but quickly found the best thing was to lie still and let it crash over him like a wave.

Stronger men than he had collapsed beneath life's unpredictable sorrows. He could not look to others for his salvation; other people were unreliable, changeable. He could only count upon his own resources, his own courage, his own need for truth.

I weep flowers, I weep song, I bleed

Each word is a boat, a small saving thing in this increasingly dark, blood-drenched dream.

She supposed that there were some things, some lost things, some things that could never be recovered, that would always be regretted; mourned; grieved over.

Stephen had just come from a class discussion in which several students believed that the right cup of herbal tea would save them from pain and sorrow. Well acquainted with pain and sorrow, Stephen did not contribute to the discussion. He merely crossed these idiots off his list of possible friends.

You don't lose a person all at once. You lose them in parts.