Quotes About Sorrow

Yes, I see, Mr Worsley. The love that shall not speak its name." "Well, yes, something like that. Something illicit, dangerous, yet also something beautiful, something... grand. A grand love, one that has brought both joy and heartache. Yes?

I've barely eaten and the cheap, not-quite-cold-enough champagne goes directly to the bottom of my stomach and into my bloodstream and I find, as my eyes take in the beauty of Chicago's skyline reflected in the rose-gold mirror of the lake, that I am crying.

Tallulah has not left this room for days now, maybe longer. The edges of Tallulah's days feel ragged and unformed. Scarlett still comes and goes with food and drinks and treats but Tallulah no longer asks her about the outside world because she no longer cares, all she cares about is sleep.

But the absence of tears wasn't the same as an absence of feeling.

I had to let go of him. But I knew that as long as I lived, I would feel the phantompain of his absence.

I would rather have died in your arms, Simon, than face a lifetime without you. All those endless years…all those winters, summers…a hundred seasons of wanting you and never having you. Growing old, while you stayed eternally young in my memories.

I have come to realize you can never be truly happy unless you've known some sorrow.

I recall with sorrow the demise of 233 party cadres who lost their lives after the special court delivered its verdict on my sentence.

Even if she loved him with all her heart, it would still be the love of a dead woman.

Concha ölümümü öÄŸrenince aÄŸlayacakt?. Aylarca içinden yaÅŸamak isteÄŸi gelmeyecekti. Ama ölecek olan bendim. ...

My body turns and yearns for a sleep That won't ever come It's never over, My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder It's never over, all my riches for her smiles When I slept so soft against her It's never over, All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter It's never over, She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

And in this sleek silver needle, Percey Clay felt herself flying into the heart of the sky, leaving behind the cumbersome, the heavy, the painful. Leaving behind Ed's death and Brit's, leaving behind even that terrible man, the devil, the Coffin Dancer. All of the hurt, all of the uncertainty, all of the ugliness were trapped far below her, and she was free.

We knew that Cecilia had killed herself because she was a misfit, because the beyond called to her, and we knew that her sisters, once abandoned, felt her calling from that place, too.

On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide—it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese—the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope.

Regret, already sogging me down, burst its dam. It seeped into my legs, it pooled in my heart.

It seemed like we were supposed to feel sorry for everything that ever happened, ever.

and left no doubt that Cecilia had done violence to herself.

He felt as if he were being violently emptied out, as if a big magnet were pulling his blood and fluids down into the earth. He was weeping again, unstoppably, his head like the chandelier in his grandparents' house in Buffalo, the one that was too high for them to reach and that every time he visited had one fewer bulb alight. His head was an old chandelier, going dark.

Ugye, megmondtam, hogy a jó szerencsére mindig bánat jön!

She had the rectitude, Joe Hill Conley later said, of someone who had just come from weeping in the next room.

At the same time, the fact that the girls were slowly sinking hadn't completely penetrated our minds, and on some mornings we awoke to a world still unruptured: we stretched, we got out of bed, and only after rubbing our eyes at the window did we remember the rotting house across the street, and the mossblackened windows hiding the girls from our sight. The truth was this: we were beginning to forget the Lisbon girls, and we could remember nothing else.

parting is such a sweet sorrow

Almost imperceptibly, the rawness of her grief dulled, but sometimes she would find herself swept up in a wave of sorrow so sudden and powerful that it took her breath away.

anguished grieving. To Elizabeth Mrs. Lincoln