Quotes About Sorrow

Burnunu yukar? dikip bütün dertlerini anlatt? soÄŸuk y?ld?zlara.

He paid two dollars and a half a month rent for the small room he got from his Portuguese landlady, Maria Silva, a virago and a widow, hard working and harsher tempered, rearing her large brood of children somehow, and drowning her sorrow and fatigue at irregular intervals in a gallon of the thin, sour wine that she bought from the corner grocery and saloon for fifteen cents. From detesting her and her foul tongue at first, Martin grew to admire her as he observed the brave fight she made.

I would that I could have stopped time and preserved that day forever. It was a perfect day. There was the shadow of sorrow, yes. It would always be there. But that was the nature of life. The bright mirror and the dark, reflecting one another. And today there was so much brightness.

Grief heals ... unshed tears fester like a canker in the soul.

Our eyes met. We had so very many shared memories between us, Bao and I. Some were wonderous, and some were terrible. Some were both.

finding brightness in the shadow of sorrow and suffering, weaving the strands of loss and anguish into a fabric of togetherness.

There are those who are awkward in the face of sorrow, fearing to say the wrong thing; to them, I say, there is no wrong in comfort, ever. A kind word, a consoling arm … these things are ever welcome.

where battle prevails, women must grieve.

People don't realize how desolate you feel. How this ache never goes; it's like a weight in the middle of the body, a bad ache in the gut every single day. And the thing is, it's not simply a case of missing a person--it's missing everything that came with that person.

Grief from the war casts a shadow that at times was dense and at others seemed as pale as a length of gauze, but it was never gone.

A short time ago death was the cruel stranger, the visitor with the flannel footsteps . . . today it is the mad dog in the house. One eats, one drinks beside the dead, one sleeps in the midst of the dying, one laughs and sings in the company of corpses. —GEORGES DUHAMEL, French doctor serving at Verdun in the Great War

She understood loss, understood how it could leach into every fiber of one's being; how it could dull the shine on a sunny day, and how it could replace happiness with doubt, giving rise to a lingering fear that good fortune might be snatched back at any time.

Unrest and pain and sorrow are the shadows of life.

Men pass from evil to good, from self to Truth, through the dark gate of sorrow, for sorrow and self are inseparable.

There is no physician like cheerful thought for dissipating the ills of the body; there is no comforter to compare with goodwill for dispersing the shadows of grief and sorrow.

suffering is of self. All suffering ends in Truth. When you have entered into and realized Truth, you will no longer suffer disappointment, remorse, and regret, and sorrow will flee from you.

Where is the burden which should cause unhappiness or sorrow? It does not exist. If a thing is to be done let it be done cheerfully, and not with inward groanings and lamentations. It is of the highest wisdom to embrace necessity as a friend and guide.

Trust life, and it will teach you, in joy and sorrow, all you need to know.

Youth must be the worst time in anybody's life. Everything's happening for the first time, which means that sorrow, then, lasts forever. Later, you can see that there was something very beautiful in it. That's because you ain't got to go through it no more.

one day I'll weep for this. One of these days I'll start to cry.

And my mind was empty—or it was as though my mind had become one enormous, anaesthetized wound. I thought only, One day I'll weep for this. One of these days I'll start to cry

Out of joy strength came, strength that was fashioned to bear sorrow: sorrow brought forth joy. Forever? This was Ezekiel's wheel, in the middle of the burning air forever -- and the little wheel ran by faith, and the big wheel ran by the grace of God.

Beneath these faces, these clothes, accents, rudeness, was power and sorrow, both unadmitted, unrealized, the power of inventors, the sorrow of the disconnected.

He was sobbing, it would have been said, as though his heart would break.