Quotes About Sorrow

Llorar de amor, de hastío, de alegría. Llorar de frac, de flato, de flacura. Llorar improvisando, de memoria. ¡Llorar todo el insomnio y todo el día!

Ah, si yo hubiera sabido que la muerte es un país donde no se puede vivir!

Nous sommes tous des naufragés de l'âme vois-tu, la peinture n'est que le reflet de ce chagrin, antichambre de la grande joie à venir." Nous sommes tous des naufragés de l'âme vois-tu, la peinture n'est que le reflet de ce chagrin, antichambre de la grande joie à venir. On ne se tue pas pour une femme (Plon)

To-day is thine to spend, but not to-morrow; Counting on morrows breedeth bankrupt sorrow: O squander not this breath that Heaven hath lent thee; Make not too sure another breath to borrow.

Through the years I've become used to sorrow: There was not one spring I didn't leave behind The flowers.

Did you come to me because I dropped off to sleep, tormented by love? If I had known I dreamed, I would not have awakened.

Books, which we mistake for consolation, only add depth to our sorrow.

And I found that I can do it if I choose to - I can stay awake and let the sorrows of the world tear me apart and then allow the joys to put me back together different from before but whole once again.

I want to know if you've touched the center of your own sorrow, if you've been opened by life's betrayals, or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to live with deep intimacy every day of my life. I am guided, sometimes driven, by an ache to take the necessary risks that will let me live close to what is within and around me. And I am sometimes afraid that it will be too much, that I will not have, or be connected to, whatever it takes to be with it all, to bear the exquisite beauty and bone-wrenching sorrow of being fully alive.

If I want to live my ability to be fully present and compassionate, my ability to be with it all—the joy and the sorrow—I must find the ways, the people, the places, the practices that support me in being all I truly am. I must cultivate ways of being that let me feel the warmth of encouragement against my heart when it is weary.

Niente ferisce, avvelena, ammala, quanto la delusione. Perché la delusione è un dolore che deriva sempre da una speranza svanita, una sconfitta che nasce sempre da una fiducia tradita cioè dal voltafaccia di qualcuno o qualcosa in cui credevamo

To wait. In our lives we know joy, anger, sorrow, and a hundred other emotions, but these emotions all together occupy a bare one percent of our time. The remaining ninety-nine percent is just living in waiting. I wait in momentary expectation, feeling as though my breasts are being crushed, for the sound in the corridor of the footsteps of happiness. Empty. Oh, life is too painful, the reality that confirms the universal belief that it is best not to be born.

Now even if I die, no one will be so grieved as to do himself bodily harm. No [...] I know just how much sadness my death will cause you. Undoubtedly you will weep when you learn the news--apart, of course, from such ornamental sentimentality as you may indulge in--but if you will please try to think of my joy at being liberated completely from the suffering of living and this hateful life itself, I believe that your sorrow will gradually dissolve.

The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people.

I suddenly wondered whether Mother might not actually be happy now, whether the sensation of happiness might not be something like faintly glittering gold sunken at the bottom of the river of sorrow. The feeling of that strange pale light when once on as exceeded all the bounds of unhappiness - if that can be called a sensation of happiness, the Emperor, my mother, and even I myself may be said to be happy now.

It was less the fact of Yoshiko's defilement than the defilement of her trust in people which became so persistent a source of grief as almost to render my life insupportable. [...] Yoshiko's immaculate trustfulness seemed clean an pure, like a waterfall among green leaves. One night sufficed to turn the waters of this pure cascade yellow and muddy. Yoshiko began from that night to fret over my every smile or frown.

I was plagued by a heavy sense of loss, as if my heart had become empty.

One day, I went to a soba restaurant outside town, and while I was waiting for the zarusoba I opened an old graph magazine. There was a picture of an exhausted, lonely kneeling woman who wore a checked patterned yukata after the tradegy of a large earthquake. With the intensity of my chest ready to burn up, I fell in love with that poor woman. I also felt a horrifying desire for her. Maybe tragedy and desire are back to back to one another.

I had the feeling that were Mother to die, my own flesh would melt away with her.

I wept bitterly, crying aloud. I could have wept on and on, interminably.

But actually glasses are the worst. Any sense of your face disappears when you put them on. Glasses obstruct whatever emotions that might appear on your face—passion, grace, fury, weakness, innocence, sorrow. And it's curious how it becomes impossible to try to communicate with your eyes. Glasses are like a ghost.

Cette nuit-là nous nous précipitâmes dans la mer à Kamakura. Tsune-ko dénoua sa ceinture, la plia et la posa sur un rocher. J'enlevai mon manteau, le plaçai à côté et nous nous jetâmes ensemble dans la mer. Tsune-ko mourut. Moi seul fut sauvé.

I felt so grateful, so happy for that gentle smile that I averted my face and wept. I was completely shattered and smothered by that one gentle smile.