Quotes About Lament

I sit, and moan, Like one who once had wings.

In its wake followed a keening sound that rose from the throats of mourners like the wind.

That men worshipped him like a god, but no one mourned.

I used to love winter, and I would listen to it, drop by drop. Rain, rain like an appeal to a lover, Pour down my body! Winter was not lament pointing to the end of life. It was the beginning. It was hope. So what shall I do, as life falls like hair? What will I do this winter?

The sea refreshes our imagination because it does not make us think of human life; yet it rejoices the soul, because, like the soul, it is an infinite and impotent striving, a strength that is ceaselessly broken by falls, an eternal and exquisite lament.

The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

Isa. xliii. 22, "Thou hast not called upon me, thou hast been weary of me.

The saddest summary of a life contains three descriptions: could have, might have, and should have.

I really haven't had that exciting of a life. There are a lot of things I wish I would have done, instead of just sitting around and complaining about having a boring life. So I pretty much like to make it up. I'd rather tell a story about somebody else.

wish I hadn't.

Thus saith the LORD of hosts, Consider ye, and call for the mourning women, that they may come; and send for cunning women, that they may come: And let them make haste, and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with tears, and our eyelids gush out with waters.

Gurathin sighed and rubbed his face and looked off into the distance, like he regretted all his life choices that had led to him standing here right now.

eventually you regretted the things you hadn't done as much as the things you had.

Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.

How can I but weep and lament? An eagle with claws like a lion has swooped down upon me. He has captured my beauty, my riches, my children. Our land is a desert! our city ruined. Our brothers have been carried away to a place where our fathers never dwelt—nor our grandfathers—nor our great-grandfathers!

Flounder is extinct!" they wept. "Nevermore, flounder!

It is easy to mourn the lives we aren't living. Easy to wish we'd developed other talents, said yes to different offers.

When parents are grieved by their children's wickedness they should take occasion thence to lament that corruption of nature which was derived from them, and which is the root of bitterness. But here we have that which was a relief to our first parents in their affliction.

?ovjek je proklet, i žali za svim putevima kojima nije prošao.

All the accounts of the burial of Jesus are somber, laced through with the silence of grief, the shock that violence does to one's soul, even experienced vicariously in the body of another who is loved. They are written as though they are dirges, laments hidden in the silences and spaces between the words.

Ploro perquè ploro.

Have you ever heard of a poet named Cavafy?" I told him no. "A Greek poet. Gay, in fact. He wrote a poem about a young dissolute man who tires of his life and resolves to move to a new city and mend his ways. The poet's comment is that moving away is futile because, having ruined his life in one place, he has ruined it everywhere.

The Crown is fallen from our head: woe unto us, that we have sinned.

Lo, [scribes] are slain, Their writings stolen, Woe is me for the grief of this time!