Quotes About Sorrow

It was hard to let go of love. Once woven, its ribbon was hard to tear, and this one she'd woven quite firmly herself.

Wie es so schoen bei Shakespeare heisst: "Jeder spielt seine Rolle, und meine ist eine traurige.

No. Nothing could make it easier. You lost what you loved. That was death, here as well as there.

It sounded as if his mother were breaking into small pieces, such tiny pieces that no one would ever be able to put her together again. But he wanted to keep her!

You'd like him back, too, wouldn't you? It was difficult for her to turn her eyes away from Farid's face. He'll never come back, she whispered, and look at Dustfinger. She didn't have the strength to speak any louder. All her strength was gone, as if Farid had taken it away with him. He had taken everything away from him.

Sie war so froh, das Jacob gekommen war. Und wünschte sich so sehr, er hätte sie nie gefunden.

Ofelia could still hear Mercedes crying while the blood of the dying girl in her arms was dripping down into the well. She recognized the lullaby Mercedes hummed. And then... Ofelia smiled - oh, so faintly - and then could hear no more. And Mercedes bent over the dead girl and sobbed until the dark hard was wet with her tears.

Ofelia could still hear Mercedes crying while the blood of the dying girl in her arms was dripping down into the well. She recognized the lullaby Mercedes hummed. And then... Ofelia smiled - oh, so faintly - and then could hear no more. And Mercedes bent over the dead girl and sobbed until the dark hair was wet with her tears.

Well, there's a piece of Maria in every song that I sing. And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings. And there is always one last light to turn out and one last bell to ring. And the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything.

From then on, as long as I was at Ault, I would never be alone. Martha and I would get along, our friendship would last. I felt certainty and relief. Years later, I heard a minister at a wedding describe marriage as cutting sorrow in half and doubling joy, and what I thought of was not the guy I was seeing then, nor even of some perfect, imaginary husband I might meet later; I thought immediately of Martha.

The former Mary Loveday was a thin woman in whose face any youthful beauty she may have possessed had been extinguished by years and unhappiness. There were unbecoming shadows around her eyes, two lines of discontent drew down her mouth corners, and her skin had the dry and unnourished look of a woman without a lover. Her

Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

Can you never like things without clutching them as if you wanted to pull the heart out of them? Why don't you have a bit more restraint, or reserve, or something? She looked up at him full of pain, then continued slowly to stroke her lips against a ruffled flower. Their scent, as she smelled it, was so much kinder than he; it almost made her cry.

She, herself, was so forlorn and unused, not a female at all, just a mere thing of terrors.

She did not look her best: so thin, so large-nosed, with that pink-and-white checked duster tied round her head. She felt her disadvantage. But she had had a good deal of suffering and sorrow, she did not mind any more.

How this darkness soaks me through and through

she seemed so like a wet rag that would never dry.

All life long crying without avail, As the water all night long is crying to me.

Only in the chamber of death writhed the world's most piteous thing—a childless mother.

To him, so far as he thought and dreamed, slavery was indeed the sum of all villainies, the cause of all sorrow, the root of all prejudice; Emancipation was the key to a promised land of sweeter beauty than ever stretched before the eyes of wearied Israelites.

How shall man measure Progress there where the dark-faced Josie lies? How many heartfuls of sorrow s hall balance a bushel of wheat? How hard a thing is life to the lowly, and yet how human and real! And all this life and love and strife and failure, -- is it the twilight of nightfall or the flush of some faint-dawning day?

Audry Hepburn on the cover of The Nun's Story was staring up at me from my unmade bed. Her hair was hidden by her snow-white wimple; her big eyes looked frightened. What are you looking at? I said. Fuck you. It was the first time I'd ever said the word. I felt a brief shiver of power. Then I sat back on the bed and sobbed. Dolores Price: Lady of Sorrow.

You know what 'Dolores' means? It's Latin, means sadness. Our Lady of Sorrow. Why are you so sad?

Your twin brother is, as you said, an abandoned house. If no one is home, then someone is missing. So you grieve.