Quotes About Sorrow

There was no point in looking again. He [Cork] knew that. No point except to feed the coldness inside him. In a strange way, that was exactly what he wanted now. He wanted to feed himself to the cold until the cold had consumed him and he didn't care anymore.

The day was hot and windless and the sky a hard china blue and I lay alone on the railroad bridge and cried my heart out above a river that seemed to have none.

The sound of his deep sobs was enough to make a stone weep. It's impossible to witness such open grief and not feel pity wrung from your heart... I couldn't recall ever hearing a grown man cry this way. It made me think that no matter how big we grew or how old, there was always a child in us somewhere.

I'd considered loss only from my own perspective and Albert's and Mose's and Emmy's, because our parents had been taken from us. But it worked the other way, too. Losing a child, that had to be akin to losing a good part of your heart.

NOTHING IS EVER everything, but the loss of a true love feels that way.

As I walked away he called to me and when I turned back he said, "They're never far from us, you know." "Who?" I asked. "The dead. No more'n a breath. You let that last one go and you're with them again.

The dead are} "somewhere else. Beyond pain. Beyond fear. Beyond anger. Beyond caring. These are the burdens of the living. From Heaven's Keep

over our house. My mother became nearly mute and more often than not the only sound from her was weeping. She kept the curtains drawn so that it felt as if permanent night had fallen. Never much concerned anyway with her mundane domestic duties she completely stopped cooking and cleaning and sat for hours in the quiet dark of the living room. She was flesh without spirit, eyes without sight. It felt as

Studies have shown that fathers of murdered children often die within a few years of the murder, often of heart failure. Really, they die of grief.

And what would you do if you lost a child? -I would think I was going to die, Elena said. But I wouldn't. I learned long ago that I must give up my child to the earth, to God, to the world, to death, to the possibility of death, to the possibility of disease, and in doing so I became at peace. Because I had let my child go. And in letting the child go, I became colder, more distant, and more at peace. But I still loved the child, don't be wrong. As you love your child. I am sorry.

Nothing tears the heart like a glimpse of happiness.

Life, I've learned, is not an affair of joy.

Le corps dominait seul son royaume, celui des émotions et de la durée des chagrins.

Las tristezas se olvidan con Botticelli, los miedos se atenúan con Rembrandt y las penas se reducen con Chagall.

Death in Love R. Garcia y Robertson

God is not being unkind to us by not sharing… the point is that we are not built to understand the big picture, precisely because we live in time and God does not. If we could see the end from the beginning, and understand how a billion lives and a thousand generations and unspeakable sorrows and untold joys are all woven into a tapestry of perfect beauty, then we would be God.

Just then someone called his name and he turned and saw the torn and colorless polo shirt, the slacks that couldn't be patched any more. He saw the sunken-cheeked cadaver, the living waste of time and effort that added up to the face and body of his younger brother.

Sorgen dömer den levande till en ensamhet utan like, som ensamheten i vilken sjukdomen innesluter den sjuke -

she poured herself into him wordlessly. Unable to stop, she emptied her very core into him, and yelled and sobbed and laughed and promised and begged, and explained why and why not, and why they must and why they couldn't, and why there was no life without and how everything is always ripped in the same place and how she curses the moment and is resurrected over and over again endlessly.

Och han är död, jag förstår nästan betydelsen av dessa ljud: Barnet är dött. Jag erkänner att dessa ord rymmer en sanning. Han är död. Han är död. Men hans död, hans död är inte död.

Nothing endears so much a friend as sorrow for his death. The pleasure of his company has not so powerful an influence.

A propensity to hope and joy is real riches: One to fear and sorrow, real poverty.

For they were unseasoned, nor inured, not knowing this to be much less than the beginning of sorrow.

wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. There is no word for a parent who loses a child. Lose your child and you're… nothing. —Tennessee Williams