Quotes About Sorrow

Mother and Egg would meet us in Vienna the next day; Sorrow would fly with them.

She shot from the sky to the bottom of the sea with her son beside her screaming, Sorrow hugged to his chest.

We had learned this fact of Sorrow, previously, from Frank: Sorrow floats.

In my arms, which I realized had grown very strong, I held the former Big Ten star, who was as heavy and meaningful, to me, as our family bear, and I stared into the short distance that separated us from Sorrow.

Sorrow," Frank kept repeating, until he fell asleep. "It's Sorrow," he murmured. "You can't kill it," Frank mumbled. "It's Sorrow. It floats.

Retrieving Sorrow is a kind of religion, too.

One thing," Father said. Susie the bear put her paw on my hand, as if even Susie knew what was coming. "Just one thing," Father said. We were very quiet, waiting for this. "It mustn't look like Sorrow," Father said. "And you've got the eyes, so you've got to pick out the dog. Just make sure it in no way resembles Sorrow." —

Add doom to the list, then. Especially in families, doom is "altogether common." Sorrow floats; love, too; and—in the long run—doom. It floats, too.

HERE is the epilogue; there always is one. In a world where love and sorrow float, there are many epilogues—and some of them go on and on. In a world where doom always muscles in, some of the epilogues are short.

I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind. - To Sorrow

X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—"La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill's side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death...

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness,—- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving.

She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die: And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding Adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee mouths sips:

But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more Beautiful than Beauty's self.

I sit, and moan, Like one who once had wings.

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs

The air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy.

And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?

Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.

Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine

I would have borne it as I would bear death if fate was in that humour: but I should as soon think of choosing to die as to part from you.