Quotes About Sorrow

While it is certainly true that God's love for us does not protect us from pain and sorrow, it is also true that all occasions of pain and sorrow are under the absolute control of God. If God controls the circumstances of the sparrow, how much more does He control the circumstances that affect us? God does not walk away and leave us to the mercy of uncontrolled random or chance events.

While it is certainly true that God's love for us does not protect us from pain and sorrow, it is also true that all occasions of pain and sorrow are under the absolute control of God.

A tiny butter knife slices more skin off my heart every time I think about her.

La ausencia de las hermanas Gómez me dio duro, las extrañé más de lo normal, eso causó en mí un dolor difícil de superar.

Violet heard the coughing and came running back. She sank down on the bench beside Rose, putting her arm around the older girl and holding a handkerchief to Rose's lips. "What happened?" she asked Galen, her tone just shy of being accusatory. "I am so sorry, Your Highness," Galen said, backing away. "I made her laugh, and–" "You made her laugh?" Violet's eyes widened. "She hasn't laughed in weeks!" She smiled at Galen and gave Rose's shoulders a little squeeze.

silent tears fall ruefully at midnight

Nothing unites people more (without restricting their individuality) than sharing their admiration and love for a person; sharing an idea, a piece of music, a painting, a symbol; sharing in a ritual—and sharing sorrow.

From birth to death, from Monday to Monday, from morning to evening—all activities are routinized, and prefabricated. How should a man caught in this net of routine not forget that he is a man, a unique individual, one who is given only this one chance of living, with hopes and disappointments, with sorrow and fear, with the longing for love and the dread of the nothing and of separateness?

With blinded eyes I stared at the sky, this grey, endless sky of a crazy god, who had made life and death for his amusement.

Sweet dreams though the guns are booming.

I love him, his shoulders, his angular, stooping figure – and at the same time I see behind him woods and stars, and a clear voice utters words that bring me peace, to me, a soldier in big boots, belt, and a knapsack, taking the road that lies before him under the high heaven, quickly forgetting and seldom sorrowful, for ever pressing on under the wide night sky.

To-day we would pass through the scenes of our youth like travellers. We are burnt up by hard facts; like tradesmen we understand distinctions, and like butchers, necessities. We are no longer untroubled—we are indifferent. We might exist there; but should we really live there? We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial—I believe we are lost.

One lost easiest what one held in one's arms— never what one left.

If only they would not look at one so-What great misery can be in two such small spots, no bigger than a man's thumb-in their eyes!

Monotonously the lorries sway, monotonously come the calls, monotonously falls the rain. It falls on our heads and on the heads of the dead up in the line, on the body of the little recruit with the wound that is so much too big for his hip; it falls on Kemmerich's grave; it falls in our hearts.

Der Zug fährt langsam. Manchmal hält er an, und die Toten werden ausgeladen. Er hält oft.

The coffins are really for us. The organization surpasses itself in that kind of thing.

SevmÉ™yÉ™n adam bu dünyaya mÉ™zuniyyÉ™tÉ™ gÉ™lmiÅŸ ölüdür. Onun da quruca ad? , doÄŸulduÄŸu ay?, ili var, vÉ™ssalam.

With blinded eyes I stared at the sky, this grey, endless sky of a crazy god, who had made life and death for his amusement. In

Q?sqancl?q deyilÉ™n ÅŸey iki sevÉ™ndÉ™n birinin qabaqca ölÉ™cÉ™yini bilÉ™n gündÉ™n baÅŸlam?rd?m? ?

out my cigarettes, break each one in half and give them to the Russians. They bow to me and then light the cigarettes. Now red points glow in every face. They comfort me; it looks as though there were little windows in dark village cottages saying that behind them are rooms full of peace. The

I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow.

words, words, but they hold the horror of the world.

Erich Maria Remarque