Quotes About Sorrow

A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he's still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he's still left with his hands.

Outside of time and space, he looked down upon the earth and saw that each fleeting day was a day of dying, that men died slowly with each passing moment as much as they did in war, that human grief and sorrow were utterly insufficient to this vast, dreary spectacle.

I wondered why, after such a great loss, they ever let us out of their sight. Later I realized that it was their way of fighting that loss, sitting there in the darkness and feeling, vicariously, our hearts running through the night, and through the woods-a way of speaking to the sorrow, and to Mother, too-a way of saying that all had not been for naught, that her children's lives and joy would be irrepressible, because they had come out of her.

Light lost to the darkness here.

They send a person who can never stay, she whispered. Who can never accept my offer of companionship for more than a little while. They send me a hero I can't help ... just the sort of person I can't help falling in love with. ... As I sailed into the lake I realized the Fates really were cruel. They sent Calypso someone she couldn't help but love. But it worked both ways. For the rest of my life I would be thinking about her. She would always be my biggest what if.

Nothing is more tragic than loving someone to the depths of your soul and knowing they cannot and will not ever love you back.

Death has more in common with Love than you might imagine.

I was glad to be with her, but it also kind of hurt, and it hurt when I wasn't with her, too.

Child of Hades, what more could I do to you? You are perfect! So much sorrow and pain!' Nico gasped. His eyes flew open.

The wind god Favonius had warned him in Croatia: If you let your anger rule you … your fate will be even sadder than mine. But how could his fate be anything but sad? Even if he lived through this quest, he would have to leave both camps forever. That was the only way he would find peace. He wished there was another option – a choice that didn't hurt like the waters of the Phlegethon – but he couldn't see one.

Death is sometimes kinder than Love.

They'd welcomed him aboard their ship. Nico had never allowed himself the luxury of friends, but the crew of the Argo II was as close as he'd ever come. The idea of any of them dying made him feel empty – like he was back in the giants' bronze jar, alone in the dark, subsisting only on sour pomegranate seeds.

I tried very hard. But I can't help it. The Fates are cruel. They sent you to me, my brave one, knowing that you would break my heart.

But not like this: not with the house just an afterimage, and my mom a spirit, and my dad...recycled. Carter Kane, Chapter 41

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

I have brought you a hero's fate, and a hero's fate is never happy. It is never anything but tragic.

Jason rose from his deathbed so he could drown with the rest of the crew.

As I sailed into the lake I realized the Fates really were cruel. They sent Calypso someone she couldn't help but love. But it worked both ways. For the rest of my life I would be thinking about her. She would always be my biggest what if.

We often forget that God has emotions, too. He feels things very deeply. The Bible tells us that God grieves, gets jealous and angry, and feels compassion, pity, sorrow, and sympathy as well as happiness, gladness, and satisfaction. God loves, delights, gets pleasure, rejoices, enjoys, and even laughs! 2

Amelia imagined her parents clasping each other's bodies in a cold embrace and felt sorry for their poor mother who probably thought she had escaped Victor for ever

The only way to stop the tears was to keep drinking the whisky.

feeling that always came with the rain and the dark. She'd just

Suddenly she wants to fall to her knees and pray for the poets. She imagines them with immaculate ravaged faces, with necklaces of ransacked moons, with teeth which are black stubs. Poets are collections of unused crescents and bandages, confused images and terrible departing.

She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.