Quotes About Sorrow

Later that year, when snow started to hide the front steps, when morning became evening as I sat on the sofa, buried under everything I'd lost, I made a fire and used my laughter for kindling: Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!

The horse at the bottom of the river, shrouded by the sunken night sky, closed its heavy eyes. The prehistoric ant in Yankel's ring, which had lain motionless in the honey-colored amber since long before Noah hammered the first plank, hid its head between its many legs, in shame.

She took the posters downtown that afternoon. She filled a rolling suitcase with them ... she took a stapler. And a box of staples. And hope. I think of those things. The paper, the stapler, the staples, the tape, the hope. It makes me sick. Physical things. Forty years of loving someone becomes staples and hop.

It's a shame that we have to live, but it's a tragedy that we only have one life

it broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of

Hüznü aÅŸman?n tek yolu onu tüketmektir (...)

In the end, everyone loses everyone. There's no invention to get around that. And so, I felt that night like the turtle that everything in the universe was on top of.

I would give everything never to think about her again, I can only hold on to the things I want to lose.

Maybe it's true that you can use up all of your tears...It was nice to think about, because what I wanted was to be empty.

But I knew that there couldn't be pockets that enormous. In the end, everyone loses everyone.

Yankel's lipstick autobiography came flaking off his bedroom ceiling, falling gently like blood-stained snow to his bed and floor. You are Yankel. You love Brod. You are a Sloucher. You were once married, but she left you. You don't believe in an afterlife.

In another place, their sons were killed between the barbs of their own guard wire, killed with misfired bombs while squirming in the mire like animals, killed with friendly fire, killed sometimes without knowing that they were about to die - a bullet through the head while joking with a comrade, laughing

Life is upsetting," Irv said. "Like blood is wet.

With David, I sometimes sigh, "How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my hear? How long will my enemy triumph over me?"1

everything comes and goes; pleasure moves on too early and trouble leaves too slow

Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

Emma dropped the paper. Her first impression was of a weak feeling in her stomach and in her knees; then of blind guilt, of unreality, of coldness, of fear; then she wished that it were already the next day. Immediately afterwards she realized that that wish was futile because the death of her father was the only thing that had happened in the world, and it would go on happening endlessly.

So my life is a point-counterpoint, a kind of fugue, and a falling away–and everything winds up being lost to me, and everything falls into oblivion, or into the hands of the other man.

Emma dropped the letter. The first thing she felt was a sinking in her stomach and a trembling in her knees; then, a sense of blind guilt, of unreality, of cold, of fear; then, a desire for this day to be past. Then immediately she realized that such a wish was pointless, for her father's death was the only thing that had happened in the world, and it would go on happening, endlessly, forever after.

Bazen ölsem diyorum. sahilde güneÅŸlenmeye uzan?r gibi, uzan?p s?cak kumlara, kum olsam. Unutsa sevdiklerim, hiç yaÅŸamam???m gibi. Ben de unutsam, kaybolsam.

Tasalanma, yavaÅŸ yavaÅŸ artan körlük pek trajik deÄŸil. A??r bir yaz akÅŸam? gibi.

El tiempo no rehace lo que perdemos, la eternidad lo guarda para la gloria y también para el fuego.

Sé que he perdido tantas cosas que no podría contarlas y que esas perdiciones, ahora, son lo que es mío. Sé que he perdido el amarillo y el negro y pienso en esos imposibles colores como no piensan los que ven. Mi padre ha muerto y está siempre a mi lado. (…) Nuestras son las mujeres que nos dejaron, ya no sujetos a la víspera, que es zozobra, y a las alarmas y terrores de la esperanza. No hay otros paraísos que los paraísos perdidos».

Cuando era joven, me atraían los atardeceres, los arrabales y la desdicha; ahora, las mañanas del centro y la serenidad.