Quotes About Crying

I cry intermittently, like a summer rain. I don't feel racked by the crying; in fact, it hydrates me. Then rage wells up in me, and I want to take a crowbar to all the cars in the neighborhood.

I had discovered, or rediscoverd, that crying is a pleasure—that it can be a pleasure beyond all reckoning if your head is pressed in your mother's waist and her hands are on your back, and if she happens to be wearing clean clothes.

She could not do distress. Anger was so much easier. And quicker and harder and better. If I start crying, I'll never stop –you hear people say that; Kiki heard people say it all the time in the hospital. A backlog of sadness for which there would never be sufficient time

She would brush her hair and cry, just imagine, I was sure it was something psychological, something that could be cured by love, you know how difficult it is to realize that some pains can't be cured by love?

Hurrying, dragging, falling, crying, calling out names hopefully and hopelessly.

I try not to cry in front of people that might get very emotional. I try to cry by myself. When I'm in a comfortable place, I don't hold anything inside. I just let it out, and I feel better afterwards.

oh, you are crying! The Empire has fallen... I salute the Empire.

With my mother, I felt helpless all the time. Sometimes I feel helpless as a mother, but I know it'll pass. And this time, there are things I can do to make it better. For example, Rose cries whenever I put her in the stroller, but once I start pushing the stroller, she's happy. I remind myself that crying is her way of expressing herself, because she can't speak, whereas my mom cried because she felt pain, and I didn't know how to make it stop.

It was the sheer variety of the pain that stopped me from crying out. It came from so many places, spoke so many languages, wore so many dazzling varieties of ethnic costume, that for a full fifteen seconds I could only hang my jaw in amazement.

I bring in my heart the weeping and crying Caribbean Orinoco.

There was a tight singing in her ears she had not heard since her childhood days in the community crèche: the tight singing noise you hear when you are trying not to cry.

The sense of power, of human ability, was so strong. Many of the men cried. Men are so easily moved.

I cry too easily," she said in vexation. "I always have. I hate it." "Why?" "It shows weakness." "It shows strength," he said. "Stoic people are the weak ones.

Don't tell anyone I was crying, or I shall be very cross with you." "No, monisha," he had soothed, cuddling her closer as she sniffled. "All your secrets are safe with me. You know that.

No, she said. She was crying because Irene had the same tracksuit that Paulie Walnuts was wearing.

She can't concentrate because trying not to cry is taking all of her focus. She looked up the symptoms of depression and ticked off all the boxes.

It was once suggested to me that, as an antidote to crying, I put my head in a paper bag. As it happens, there is a sound physiological reason, something to do with oxygen, for doing exactly that, but the psychological effect alone is incalculable: it is difficult in the extreme to continue fancying onceself Cathy in Wuthering Heights with one's head in a Food Fair bag.

It was once suggested to me that, as an antidote to crying, I put my head in a paper bag. As it happens, there is a sound physiological reason, something to do with oxygen, for doing exactly that, but the psychological effect alone is incalculable: it is difficult in the extreme to continue fancying oneself Cathy in Wuthering Heights with one's head in a Food Fair bag.

My brothers bullied me, so I cried a lot as a kid. It was the only defense I had. Telling them to stop wouldn't work. The crying would bring my dad. Dad was my cavalry.

Thanks for being selfish, I'm disappointed but I will hide it FOR YOU :) thanks for make me cry.

Then you'll cry and go on livin'. But girl, you be borrowing trouble 'fore there be trouble to borrow. You done be lettin' that fear take over your heart again. What happened to your trust, chile? What happened to your trust?" Rose

He knew human folly like the back of his hand, And was greatly interested in armies and fleets; When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter, And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

There's a trick to not crying when you peel an onion," Mr. Powell said, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Wish I knew it.

I´d never heard a man cry before, Bob, but...it´s awful. (...) I think some man aren´t used to it and don´t know what to do with all that feeling. Their emotions are hexane ignited in their chests and rips them apart, and then they feel like they´re going to die-just as something was dying, at that moment in Mitch.