Quotes About Sorrow

Frances and Courtney, I'll be at your altar/ Please keep going Courtney, for Frances/ For her life, which will be so much happier without me/ I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU.

I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.

The excursion is the same when you go looking for your sorrow as when you go looking for your joy.

There are certain kinds of deaths that one should not be expected to re-live, certain kinds of connections that are so deep that when broken you feel the snap of the link inside you.

Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow,' she whispered 'That I shall say good night till it be morrow,' Harry replied.

Everyone struggles against despair, but it always wins in the end. It has to. It's the thing that lets us say goodbye.

A life without problems or limitations or challenges--life without "opposition in all things," as Lehi phrased it (2 Nephi 2:11)--would paradoxically but in very fact be less rewarding and less ennobling than one which confronts--even frequently confronts--difficulty and disappointment and sorrow.

Each day can bring more joy than sorrow when our mortal and spiritual eyes are open to God's goodness.

Grief cannot be sidestepped; it must be endured.

her sisters die and then falling under the same shadow

Holding the knife with the blade against my palm, it became so clear how my life would only contain shadows now. Shadows of things gone; not just the people themselves but everything connected to them. Was this my future? Every moment, every tiny thing I saw and did and touched, weighted by loss. Every space in this house and my town and the world in general, empty in a way that could never be filled.

Now I lay facedown on the bed, sobbing for the woman who once slept here not knowing that someday one of her worst fears would come true

She wanted to scream her grief to the skies and wail like an animal, but she couldn't.

Ghosts are not the dead, come back from the grave to torment the living; ghosts are already here. They live inside us, keening in the ashes of our sorrows, mired in the thick, clutching mud of our regrets.

Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only Silence. Indifference.

A lo largo de su vida siempre había querido y amado lo que no debía. Lo que le rompía el corazón. Todo aquello no era para ella, el mundo se lo había dicho. Entonces ¿para qué pedirlo? No serviría más que para hacerle daño de nuevo.

He'd take danger over sorrow every time.

She was careful not to indulge this line of thinking. "I don't remember him," she told Coz. "I have nothing to say." She did this for Coz's protection and her own—they were writing a story of redemption, of fresh beginnings and second chances. But in that direction lay only sorrow.

it was a restless, desperate wish for something to change. Anything. Even if the change brought a certain danger. He'd take danger over sorrow every time.

He tipped back his head to look at the sky, its torn beauty rinsed and salved by fog, and imagined he was seeing their opioid dreams rising into heaven.

The problem is - we own our lives, sure. But our lives don't belong only to us. And yet, we are here to tell our stories in this way to make sense of our lives. So how do you tell a story when you know that telling it will bring other people sorrow? Is it better, in the end, to just be silent?

None of us are at the end of what we experience. It may feel like we are at times the target of sorrow or of anger, but these things must pass through us if we want to survive them. We cannot keep joy to ourselves or love hidden away. Nor can we harbor pain so deep that it takes root. We can set the love we have inside our hearts free to be enjoyed by those we hold dear. We have in us the power to reshape

Feeling like she really was just seven or eight, Claire sat down on the floor, books all around her, and she opened the last one she'd picked up. Even though it was dark, and even though her eyes couldn't see the words, she knew them. Knew the little prince's story as well as her own. She closed her eyes. She leaned her head forward against the book. And she sobbed.

En ik zal voor altijd spijt hebben van wat ik je zus heb aangedaan.