Quotes About Sorrow

Acid shoots through my esophagus, all that leftover love with no place to go.

One woman's tub of cottage cheese is another's maxed-out MasterCard; one woman's soul-murdering love affair is another's frenzied eating binge. The methods may differ, but boil any of these behaviors down to their essential ingredients and you are likely find a particularly female blend of anxiety, guilt, shame, and sorrow, the psychic roux of profound—and often profoundly misunderstood—hungers.

Once more, my harp! once more, although I thought Never to wake thy silent strings again, A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought, And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain, Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough, Into the poet's Heaven, and leaves dull grief below

Yet every time I saw Arthur my heart sank.

The tragedy of puppies, taken from their families, all of them, never to see each other again. This is the sadness we inflict on the beasts we love.

Walking out of the store with my parrot & sushi, I feel hideous, like everything I've done must be written on my skin. I walk through the streets of Tokyo with my cameraman behind me, knowing that anyone who looks at me will be able to see myshame, my sorrow, my regrets as ugly as scars. -Cassie

I'm here!" I said..."I'm read to go home!" As if they couldn't see me. As if I couldn't remember what it had been like, fluttering next to someone's ear and whispering into it. How the whole earth was like a musical instrument that we could play effortlessly. ...I could not fly. My sister was not there. My heart was broken.

And each time she did, he would cry the way he had cried at his wife's funeral, understanding at last that grief is not accountable, that it lives wherever it chooses, and that the worst thing is this: after the first time, one always has the memory of it.

I thought you might supply some tenderness I lacked But out of all the things I offered you took my breath away and now I want it back

Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn't magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.

When I think of your name, I feel an ache.

I tucked the charred piece of her sweatshirt i had recovered into the back pocket of my jeans. I am glad she is with me now. Nick's anklet touches my skin. He is here too.

If i opened the door would he be there? would he smile at me and show his dimples? Would his cheeks be scruffy because he needed a shave? Would he hug me? all i've wanted all these monthes was for him to be alive. But i'd seen him on the floor. i'd seen him in the coffin. And you can feel it when someone has died, you can feel that his soul is gone, just gone, the emptiness of his body.

I bet all I had on a thing called love; guess in the end it wasn't enough. And it's hard to watch you leave right now; I'm gonna have to learn to let you go somehow.

But tonight we danced with the drowned. And they were us.

Loss was a night that never ended.

Her grief was a burden so heavy, he came close to collapsing under it, and yet he couldn't lay it down.

She still held back her tears, as if subjecting herself to some terrible endurance test.

Tonight we danced with the drowned. And they were us.

There must be a period of gestation before a nything can flower. If only those who suffer would be patient with their early humiliations and realise that Advent is not only the time of growth but also of darkness and hiding and waiting, they would trust, and trust rightly, that Christ is growing in their sorrow, and in due season all the fret and strain and tension of it will give place to a splendour of peace.

Body and soul together give glory to God: the sharper the capacity for sorrow and joy, the greater the hallowing; the subtler the delicacy of the daily life, the surer is Christ proved in it. In office or home or hospital; prison, barracks, or church—anywhere at all where men and women are—the mystery of the Incarnation can bear fruit in bodies and souls all day and all night, too.

The philosopher is a person who refuses no pleasures which do not produce greater sorrows, and who knows how to create new ones.

It's too late," she said. "Don't say that." His voice was half a whisper. "I love you, Tessa. I love you.

When I think of all the sorrow and the barrenness that has been wrought in my life by want of a few more pounds per annum than I was able to earn, I stand aghast at money's significance.