Quotes About Tragic

Molly stood up. You made an error! She felt like saying. A bad throw. So what? It's a baseball game. A game. Who really cares? A bad throw? In the great scheme of things? A bad throw? Of course she didn't say that. She understood that your own errors always feel tragic.

Serial killers are not born serial killers, but develop as a result of deep ingrained pain and unbearable rejection. It is tragic that they avenge their misery on innocent people who have had absolutely no part in causing their initial suffering, save that they unconsciously remind the serial killer of his first tormentor.

All of the ills of mankind, all of the tragic misfortunes that fill the history books ...have arisen merely from a lack of skill at dancing.

We have lived for too long in a world, and tragically in a Church, where the wills and affections of human beings are regarded as sacrosanct as they stand, where God is required to command what we already love, and to promise what we already desire.

Shall then this man go hungry, here in lands Blest by his honor, builded by his hands? Do something for him: let him never be Forgotten: let him have his daily bread: He who has fed us, let him now be fed. Let us remember his tragic lot— Remember, or else be ourselves forgot! —Edwin Markham, "The Forgotten Man" (1932) I

You know, in the Soviet Union they used to have a tradition of ordering scientists to change their studies to conform with the ideology then acceptable to the state. And scientists in the rest of the world found that laughable as well as tragic.

The lives and deaths of characters in stories and poems, however tragic, help us to learn about the world and - if we are brave enough - to change it.

There is a tragic clash between Truth and the world. Pure undistorted truth burns up the world.

How should the little creatures, the awakened worlds, reach out to knowledge of the whole cosmos, and of the divine? Instead they must play their own part in the drama, and appreciate their own tragic end with godlike detachment and relish.

The story of your species is indeed a tragic story, for it closes with desolation. Your part in that story is both to strive and to fail in a unique opportunity, and so to set the current of history toward disaster. But think not therefore that your species has occurred in vain, or that your own individual lives are futile. Whatever any of you has achieved of good is an excellence in itself, and a bright thread woven into the texture of the cosmos.

She paints a pretty picture, but the story has a twist Her paintbrush is a razor, her canvas is her wrist. She paints a pretty picture in a colour that's blood red. While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead. The pretty picture is fading quite slowly on her arm. Blood no longer runs through her, she can no longer do harm. Yes, she painted a pretty picture but the story has a twist, you see, her mind was her razor, and her heart was her wrist.

Extremely tragic is a good description of you.

Destruction is tragic and piteous and beautiful. The dream of destroying, building anew, perfecting. Perhaps even, once one has destroyed, the day of perfecting may never come, but in the passion of love I must destroy. I must start a revolution.

Destruction is tragic and piteous and beautiful. The dream of destroying, building anew, perfecting. Perhaps, even, once one has destroyed, the day of perfecting may never come, but in the passion of love, I must destroy.

Kvothe continued, smiling himself "I see you laugh. Very well, for simplicity's sake, let us assume I am the center of creation. In doing this, let us pass over innumerable boring stories: the rise and fall of empires, sagas of heroism, ballads of tragic love. Let us hurry forward to the only tale of any real importance." His smile broadened. "Mine.

Very well, for simplicity's sake, let us assume I am the center of creation. In doing this, let us pass over innumerable boring stories: the rise and fall of empires, sagas of heroism, ballads of tragic love. Let us hurry forward to the only tale of any real importance." His smile broadened. "Mine.

for simplicity's sake, let us assume I am the center of creation. In doing this, let us pass over innumerable boring stories: the rise and fall of empires, sagas of heroism, ballads of tragic love. Let us hurry forward to the only tale of any real importance." His smile broadened. "Mine.