Quotes About Weeping

I wept because from now on I will weep less. I wept because I have lost my pain and I am not yet accustomed to its absence.

So illusion is delusion, and I have been Don Quixote, and nothing that I loved or dreamed existed. I am empty-handed now, a woman with an aching body. Lost. Weeping. Weeping. Saying yes to the analyst like a child.

One of the brides, I forget which, fainted away; another half-fainted — Sav'd by timely salts: The third, poor soul, wept heartily — as I suppose I shall do, on Tuesday.

Next morning Mariana awoke only to new despondency; she felt herself very solitary; she wished not to see the light of day, but staid in bed, and wept.

At present there are among Christians modern Stoics who think it is wrong to groan and to weep and even to grieve in loneliness. Such wild opinions generally come forth from men who are more dreamers than practical men, and who, therefore, cannot produce anything else but fantasies.

He breathed, with his assistant, the dust of the much-handled merchandise, the imaginable odors of sweat and pride and weeping; and it was an indefinable yet powerful atmosphere, which gave them an intimacy neither desired.

Sometimes when we weep in the movies we weep for ourselves or for a life unlived. Or we even go to the movies because we want to resist the emotion that's there in front of us. I think there is always a catharsis that I look for and that makes the movie experience worthwhile.

When ye come where I have stepped Ye will wonder why ye wept;

You are who I love, you struggling to see You struggling to love or find a question You better than me You are who I love weeping or touching the faces of the weeping You noticing the butterflies You in brightness and in darkness, throwing your head back as you laugh, kissing your hand You studying stars, you are who I love

and without his having revealed that he was weeping from love, she recognized immediately the oldest sobs in the history of man.

Every night passes grief-stricken, weeping.

You'll have to forgive me. I'm a refugee from the past, and like other refugees I go over the customs and habits of being I've left or been forced to leave behind me, and it all seems just as quaint, from here, and I am just as obsessive about it. Like a White Russian drinking tea in Paris, marooned in the twentieth century, I wander back, try to regain those distant pathways; I become too maudlin, lose myself. Weep. Weeping is what it is, not crying. I sit in this chair and ooze like a sponge.

Weeping willow, weeping willow, branches waving like the sea, While I'm lying on my pillow, come and take my pain from me… Hell

Whether we wake or we sleep, Whether we carol or weep, The Sun with his Planets in chime, Marketh the going of Time.

The truth is, laughter always sounds more perfect than weeping. Laughter flows in a violent riff and is effortlessly melodic. Weeping is often fought, choked, half strangled, or surrendered to with humiliation.

I was a newborn vampire, weeping at the beauty of the night.

To his distress, the Queen suddenly burst into a passion of weeping and said it was plain [she] was to be miserable as long as [she] lived, whatever [she] did.

I sat smiling wretchedly, my heart weeping for The Little Dog Laughed, for every well-turned phrase, for the little flecks of poetry through it, my first story, the best thing I could show for my whole life. It was the record of all that was good in me, approved and printed by the great J. C. Hackmuth, and she had torn it up and thrown it into a spittoon.

a passing face together with his grief turned you into a weeping Madonna...

Darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth. This language in Matthew 25:30 would have been familiar to a Jewish audience. It was used to describe a place of judgment (hell, Gehenna) in literature that had been written in the centuries between the Old and New Testaments. The third steward was not a true member of the kingdom and would suffer the consequences.

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers-- And that cannot stop their tears.

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,Ere the sorrow comes with years?

They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free.

There's blood on my mouth, and through the twisted collar of his shirt I can see a pale handprint darkening where my left hand clenched, somehow not hard enough to break skin, crush bone. My whole body shudders and he pulls me naked into his embrace. I bury my head against his shoulder and I am weeping, am laughing, am shivering in the cold capsule of air.