Quotes About Sorrow

Death is my lover and he wants to move in.

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!

Fifteen years ago I killed my sister.

Death is terrible, tho' borne on angels' wings!

When death comes too near, comedy and tragedy fall silent.

If you talk to any cop, however hardened, and say, "Has anything that's ever bothered you", they'll tell you about the death of a child that they had to deal with.

Death itself is too big to take in, she already sees that; the loss comes at you instead in an infinite number of small installments that can never be paid off.

I don't know much about death and the sorriest lesson I've learned is that words, my most trusted guardians against chaos, offer small comfort in the face of anyone's dying.

Death laid its eggs in the wound

We were born to die; we were born to endure, on the way to death, sorrow-sorrow in manifold shapes.

Departure beyond the borders of my country is for me equivalent to death.

Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.

How do you have one eyes?" asked Rosa, gently rocking him to and fro. "Por qué?" "La guerra," he moaned. "It cry, glasseye?" "I told you, it wasn't cheap.

Now, thanks to you, my beloved little darling, being dead is as awful as being alive was.

O that we had, to make our woes more public, Seas in our eyes, and brazen tongues by nature, A yelling voice, and hearts composed of sorrow, Breath made of flames, wits knowing naught but damage, Our sports murd'ring ourselves, our musics wailing, Our studies fixed upon the falls of fortune.

We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found

Dependence, sorrow, repentance, a longing to change—these are the gates to God's kingdom.

He had taken George, my beloved George, from me. And he had taken my other self: Anne.

I am sorry for you. And I am sorry for me. When you are sent back to me, perhaps a month from now, perhaps a year, I will try to remember this day, and you looking like a child, a little lost among all these clothes. I will try to remember that you were innocent of any plotting; that today at least, you were more a girl than a Boleyn.

He greeted Anne with a roar of joy, swept her up and kissed her. You would think he had never been Sir Loyal Heart to his Queen Katherine. You would think it had been his worst enemy who had died and not a woman who had loved him faithfully for twenty-seven years and died with a blessing for him on her lips.

Walk through your sorrow, my daughter, it hardly matters as long as you walk to where you want to be.

I find I must prepare for my death. I don't fear it. Ever since I lost my son I have been weary to my soul, and I think, when it finally comes, it will be a lying down to sleep without fear of dreams, without fear of waking. I am ready to lie down to sleep. I am tired.

It doesn't matter if you call it magic or determination. It doesn't matter if you make a spell or a plot. You have to make up your mind what you want, and have the courage to set your heart on it. You will be Queen of England, your husband is the king. Through you, the Yorks regain the throne of England that is their right. Walk through your sorrow, my daughter, it hardly matters as long as you walk to where you want to be.

She poured me a cup of coffee and I drank it standing by the back door, looking out of the back garden. I felt it scald my tongue but it did not warm me. It was heavy with sugar but it did not taste sweet. I gave a little sigh. There are some days when nothing seems right.