Quotes About Tragedy

The world-view of the poets centred in their experience of human destiny itself and of the way in which it could be overcome through that spirit of heroism in the midst of tragedy which had grown to maturity in the hard struggles of a century filled with inward upheaval and threatened with constant danger from without.

As the poets have mournfully sung, Death takes the innocent young, The rolling-in-money, The screamingly-funny, And those who are very well hung.

Crime, violence, infamy are not tragedy. Tragedy occurs when a human soul awakes and seeks, in suffering and pain, to free itself from crime, violence, infamy, even at the cost of life. The struggle is the tragedy - not defeat or death. That is why the spectacle of tragedy has always filled men, not with despair, but with a sense of hope and exaltation.

My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.

What passing bells for these who die as cattleOnly the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons.

Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son, And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

He's lost his colour very far from here, Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry

There is a tragedy in unloved years, And in those passionate hours by love deceived, In lips unkissed and hopes too soon bereaved, And youth's high courage which no strength could save, And manhood's web of fate by folly weaved, And grey-haired grief brought down into the grave. Who shall distinguish truly and be wise 'Twixt grief and grief, 'twixt night and night?

I am so stupid, so easily fooled. It's really almost funny. If I could lift a finger I would gladly kill myself.

We all have our genre. Some people live a tragedy, others inhabit a never-ending religious drama, some approach life as if it were an action film, and not a few act as if in a comedy. But in the end, they are all just stories.

Oscar Wilde: "In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. The last is much the

that the holocaust is so big, the scale of it is so gigantic, so enormous that it becomes easy to think of it as something mechanical. Anonymous. But everything that happened, happened because someone made a decision to pull a trigger, to flip a switch, to close a cattle door, to hide, to betray.

I like to see things through the lens of Greek tragedy, which teaches us, among other things, that real tragedy is never a straightforward confrontation between Good and Evil, but is rather much more exquisitely and much more agonizingly, a conflict between two irreconcilable views of the world.

real tragedy is never a straightforward confrontation between Good and Evil, but is, rather, much more exquisitely and much more agonizingly, a conflict between two irreconcilable views of the world.

Something in her had been broken... The ones who were killed were not the only ones who'd been lost.

I've acted all my life. All the world's a stage.' 'It's not.' Bressac tapped his nose thoughtfully. 'There's no rehearsal, no proper audience, no intermission, one performance only. Behind the scenes there are only more scenes. You can't tell if it's a tragedy or a comedy, but you know that, sooner or later, it'll be an historical. Daggers have solid blades and the blood is real.

The last soldier killed, Specialist David E. Hickman of the Second Battalion, 325th Airborne Infantry, died in an IED strike in Baghdad on November 14, 2011.

Specialist David E. Hickman of the Second Battalion, 325th Airborne Infantry, died in an IED strike in Baghdad on November 14, 2011.

Within a month, five hundred Jews had chosen to kill themselves rather than face another day of torment, including a family of four who lived next door to the Kleins. "They shot themselves, one at a time," Klein said. "I lay in my bed and listened to the whole thing. A shot, followed by sobs. Another shot, more sobs. After the fourth shot, there was no one left to cry, no one but me.

Miss Herzfeld kept walking. And she never looked back. Not once. And she never saw her family again. Within three weeks, they were dead. But not Miss Herzfeld. She was alive because she had blonde hair. And her sister had been turned to ashes because hers was dark.

Such was life in the Islamic caliphate, bombs falling upon severed heads, in a park where children once played. It

According to the New York-based Committee to Protect Journalists, forty-nine media professionals have been killed in Russia since 1992. Only in Iraq and Algeria have more died in the line of duty during the same period. This, too, is a Russian tragedy.

nakba, the word the Arabs used to describe the catastrophe of their flight from the land of Palestine. The