Quotes About Sorrow

Behold, when thy face is made bare, he that loved thee shall hate; Thy face shall be no more fair at the fall of thy fate For thy life shall fall as a leaf and be shed as the rain; And the veil of thine head shall be grief, and the crown shall be pain.

All the world is bitter as a tear

We are not sure of sorrow; and joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.

So Tristram looked on Iseult face to face and knew not, and she knew not. The last time -- The last that should be told in any rhyme Heard anywhere on mouths of singing men That ever should sing praise of them again; The last hour of their hurtless hearts at rest, The last that peace should touch them, breast to breast, The last that sorrow far from them should sit, This last was with them, and they knew not it.

Ah, had I not taken my life up and given All that life gives and the years let go, The wind and honey, the balm and leaven, The dreams reared high and the hopes brought low? Come life, come death, not a word be said; Should I lose you living, and vex you dead? I never shall tell you on earth; and in heaven, If I cry to you then, will you hear or know?

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; To-day will die to-morrow; Time stoops to no man's lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure. From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Fierce midnights and famishing morrows, And the loves that complete and control All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows That wear out the soul.

Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour; The heavy white limbs, and the cruel Red mouth like a venomous flower; When these have gone by with their glories, What shall rest of thee then, what remain, O mystic and somber Delores, Our Lady of Pain?

Deficiency will result in shame and sorrow but caution and foresight will bring peace and security.

And they all lived happily ever after, until they died.

A missed chance, a ruined life.

can't bear it, he said. It is like your mother has become a dwarf and as if her dwarf self is always twinkling away in all the corners of the house and the yard, always in the corner of my eye. I shrugged.

Hearts don't break...They only crack into a thousand little pieces. If they broke it would be better—because then they wouldn't exist.

Everyone who'd lost something of crucial importance wished he or she could go back to the moment when it was still theirs. The wish was so powerful it seemed it might reverse the direction of time. It bore apparitions and ghosts.

Unrequited love is so boring. Weeping under a blue-black sky is for suckers or maniacs.

A young couple — bride eighteen, man twenty-two — came here for their honeymoon. The day after the wedding, he was found to have scarlet fever, and in two days he was dead. How cruel it is when pain and sorrow come to young things, — they are so helpless; what can they do with it? What a rush of desire to go to them and wrap them about in one's long-accustomedness until the little bewildered soul has woven for itself some sort of casing.

It was in its strangeness and in its familiarity an illustration of someone else's life going on in its own way, steeped in itself, its own business, its own dailyness, its own particular sorrow or joy, all of it more or less predictable

Your phantasmagoric wound has closed.

we can laugh at it sorrowfully

I want to know why my loves had to die.

I sound happy, even though the world is a frightful dream.

I have no needs. No country, no continent, no hope. I sit in blackness where I once lived. In magic, the only force I recognize. What is it? a face cries, skittering away. All that's left, I reply

Hurts so—That's just loss. This hole within—

where we once sat lamenting.