Quotes About Tragedy

Every time has its own 'Hamlet.'

It was terrible to watch one of those things die. Eighteen tons, a hundred feet from wingtip to wingtip, ten men aboard, all fighting to get out. If she spun, the centrifugal force would pin them to the walls... You're trapped inside a metal box. You've got five miles to fall. You know it. [...] Sometimes you could hear them all the way.

In the end, the war in Vietnam was much like any other. There were those who profited. Those it devoured. And then there were those for whom there are no words.

Wait a minute, even I've hearda him. He died savin' the entire universe. Choked on cum...

The sun was shining brightly on the day that I died. It blazed from the heavens. It sang from the skies. On a day the world seemed born again, the HMS Nightingale met her end. She took us with her, every one of us: the Old Man, me, the Doc, the Chief, the babyfaced killer in A-Turret, the fat man from Swansea, all the rest. She took us to the bottom. Saved our souls.

But we survived, didn't we? That makes it an adventure. If you get killed it's a tragedy.

Many parents do not realize that a child can fall behind emotionally. And it is certainly possible for a child to fall behind to such an extent that he can never catch up. What a tragedy! A child's emotional maturation affects everything else—his self-esteem, emotional security, ability to cope with stress and change, ability to socialize, and the ability to learn.

although life happens and tragedies ensue, love has the ability to adapt. Somehow love is flexible and strong enough to step up to the challenges it faces. When we encounter distressing situations, love has a deep reservoir we may not see but we can still draw from.

When three of Job's friends heard of the tragedy he had suffered, they got together and traveled from their homes to comfort and console him. —Job 2:11

If Romeo had never met Juliet, maybe they both would have still been alive, but what they would have been alive for is the question Shakespeare wants us to answer.

Too far is when you're shot in the back of the head somewhere Upstate and the National Guard burns your body to a crisp and flushes the ashes down a cold winter's port-a-potty at some Secure Screening Facility in Troy. Lenny

Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be 'someone,' like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his genius or use it to play tricks with, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and in the end had to content himself with a cellar. Surely we must pity the Opera ghost!

I am dying of love. That is how it is...I loved her so! And I love her still....and am dying of love for her. - I kissed her alive...and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead. ~ Erik

I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is not struck by fire from heaven.

Eric is dead.

The recruits of 1914 have the look of ghosts. They are queuing up to be slaughtered: they are already dead.

What happened was a terrible, beautiful collapse.

La moraleja de todas las tragedias es la misma: que la Fortuna siempre ataca a los reinos prepotentes cuando menos lo esperan.

Ye sey right sooth; this Monk he clappeth lowde. He spak how Fortune covered with a clowde I noot nevere what; and als of a tragedie Right now ye herde, and pardee, no remedie It is for to biwaille ne compleyne That that is doon, and als it is a peyne, As ye han seyd, to heere of hevynesse. Sire Monk, namoore of this, so God yow blesse! Youre tale anoyeth al this compaignye. Swich talkyng is nat worth a boterflye

Go litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye, Ther God thi makere yet, er that he dye, So sende myght to make in som comedye! But litel book, no makyng thow n'envie, But subgit be to alle poesye; And kis the steppes where as thow seest pace Virgile, Ovide, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.

By Pluto sent at the request of Saturn. Arcita's horse in terror danced a pattern And leapt aside and foundered as he leapt, And ere he was aware Arcite was swept Out of the saddle and pitched upon his head Onto the ground, and there he lay for dead; His breast was shattered by the saddle-bow.

Go, litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye

Now peradventure, in that mighty book Which men call heaven, it had come to pass, In stars, when first a living breath he took, That he for love should get his death, alas!

The most tragic thing in the world is a man of genius who is not a man of honor.