Quotes About Sorrow

Why not leave their private sorrows to people? Is sorrow not, one asks, the only thing in the world people really possess?

I knew—but I did know that I had crossed 700  The border. Everything I loved was lost But no aorta could report regret. A sun of rubber was convulsed and set; And blood-black nothingness began to spin A system of cells interlinked within Cells interlinked within cells interlinked Within one stem. And dreadfully distinct Against the dark, a tall white fountain played. I

a little downy girl still wearing poppies still eating popcorn in the colored gloam where tawny Indians took paid croppers because you stole her from her wax-browed and dignified protector spitting into his heavy-lidded eye ripping his flavid toga and at dawn leaving the hog to roll upon his new discomfort the awfulness of love and violets remorse despair while you took a dull doll to pieces and threw its head away because of all you did because of all I did not you have to die

The theme of the book is simple: a man is dying: you feel him sinking throughout the book; his thought and his memories pervade the whole with greater or lesser distinction (like the swell and fall of uneven breathing), now rolling up this image, now that, letting it ride in the wind, or even tossing it out on the shore, where it seems to move and live for a minute on its own and presently is drawn back again by grey seas where it sinks or is strangely transfigured.

I was on my knees, and on the point of possessing my darling, when two bearded bathers, the old man of the sea and his brother, came out of the sea with exclamations of ribald encouragement, and four months later she died of typhus in Corfu.

And yet I have been fashioned so painstakingly," thought Cincinnatus as he wept in the darkness. "The curvature of my spine has been calculated so well, so mysteriously. I feel, tightly rolled up in my calves, so many miles that I could yet run in my lifetime. My head is so comfortable Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â The clock struck a half, pertaining to some unknown hour.

he loved; was not loved; and his life ended in disaster

A storm of sobs was filling my chest.

Je me retrouvai seul, roulant sous la pluie du jour agonisant, et les essuie-glace étaient en pleine action, mais que pouvaient-ils contre mes larmes ?

Living does mean accepting the loss of one joy after another, not even joys in her case, mere possibilities of improvement.

Enchia-me o peito uma tempestade de soluços.

I have hurt too much too many bodies with my twisted poor hands to be proud of them

Alone, unknown, unloved, I die...and the room had grown a ghostly thorax, with a heart unknown, unloved - but not alone

Tears are my laughter. Laughter is my pain. Cry at my grinning mouth, If you will. Laugh at my sorrow's reign.

Arms are instruments of ill omen. . . . When one is compelled to use them, it is best to do so without relish. There is no glory in victory, and to glorify it despite this is to exult in the killing of men. . . . When great numbers of people are killed, one should weep over them with sorrow. When victorious in war, one should observe mourning rites.

We all know that joy and sorrow are entirely matters of fate and have nothing whatsoever to do with planning.

In response, Habakkuk wrote one of the greatest expressions of faith in all of Scripture. He finally grasped what God was up to. He was using the wicked to discipline those who were his own in order to bring about godly sorrow and full repentance.

Kuolema riistää meiltä ihmisen kokonaan ja antaa hänet meille kokonaan.

Ole tervehditty, Dionysos! Me olemme matkalla Kuolemaan, hän on aukko maailman ihossa.

Alas for my country, thy evergreen valleys, Are wet with a tide that is red, Alas for thy hills for they shudd'ringly cover War's sacrifice, bloody and dread!

Porque no lloras Vic? -le preguntó- Acaso no le echas de menos? Ella tardó un poco en responder. Cuando lo hizo, Shail deseó no haber preguntado nunca. -Los muertos no pueden llorar- Dijo Victoria con suavidad. -Vic tu no estas muerta-replico el mago con un escalofrío -No-concedio ella-pero tampoco estoy viva del todo, dime Shail, se puede vivir con medio corazon?

Mi padre amaba el mundo. Con todas sus consecuencias. Por eso solía estar siempre triste.

Tú habrías sabido qué hacer —murmuró—. Tú comprendías a los mortales mejor que nadie. Ojalá no nos hubieses abandonado tan pronto.

No se disculpa por él, sino por mi. No puede avergonzarse de ser como es, porque el caos y la destrucción están en su propia esencia. Pero lo siente por mí. […] Sabe que me hará daño, que no va a poder evitarlo, y lo lamenta.