Quotes About Tragedy

I can't really remember a time in my life when I didn't know something about what we call the Holocaust. It was this dark topic that I would know more about when I got older, but which was spoken about in hushed tones.

James Dean was always a tortured soul.

Despite receiving over 800 patents in his lifetime, and quite literally inventing the twentieth century, he died penniless and alone.

I am dwelling on things I love, even if a measure of tragedy is stitched into everything, if you follow the thread long enough

Four men killed that day. The phrase sat up in Willie's head like a rat and made a nest for itself there

She drinks her Eva water. Their parents were taken down by cancer, heart attacks and strokes. Respectable diseases.

Here's what I think: there are neither major nor minor tragedies. Tragedies exist. Some can be described. There are others for which every heart is too small. Those kind cannot fit in the heart.

Countless stories like this have been told over the years, and how do they end? Always in misery for the wicked queen or witch, always with death. And always she was wronged in some way, by something or some person who set her on this path.

Down the steps, ...over the corpses, ...careers the pram with the child.

If you become so frightened of realities that are not your own, if you take upon yourselves tragedies that do not exist in your reality, in your moment, then you weaken your position and weaken the position, of those you think you are helping. You look about you and you see only hopelessness and helplessness. You organize your reality according to the tragedies of the newspapers!

The tragedy is that society (your school, your boss, your government, your family) keeps drumming the genius part out. The problem is that our culture has engaged in a Faustian bargain, in which we trade our genius and artistry for apparent stability.

There's no greater way to gain an audience's sympathy than by being unfortunate.

Women like Medea are never pawns.

You can hope all you want for a happy ending, but sometimes, like it or not, the guy writing your story is working on a tragedy; you may not even be the main character.

The Kugels, Kugel hated to admit, might just have to, in the event of genocide, rely on the kindness of strangers. Mother used to say: I can name six million people who relied on the kindness of strangers.

She died a few days later, and her death buried once and for all the intrigues between the Precious Wife, the Gracious Wife, and all the Imperial favorites. Rivalries and alliances, loathing and attraction had been dissolved. Their existence had been a pointless tragedy, just as the talent of one prodigious poetess had been.

I had come to see that the great tragedy in the church is not that rich Christians do not care about the poor but that rich Christians do not know the poor...I truly believe that when the rich meet the poor, riches will have no meaning. And when the rich meet the poor, we will see poverty come to an end.

The lives of the thirty thousand children who die of starvation each day is like 6 september 11ths every single day, a silent tsunami that happens every week.

We can admire and worship Jesus without doing what he did. We can applaud what he preached and stood for without caring about the same things. We can adore his cross without taking up ours. I had come to see that the great tragedy in the church is not that rich Christians do not care about the poor but that rich Christians do not know the poor.

This grace does not undo a tragedy or pardon a wrong, but it becomes the first step toward a more hopeful future.

I couldn't remember the last time I had stayed up into the squeaky hours of the night because I couldn't put a book down, and that was a tragedy.

The day I won an Emmy was also the day my father passed away. I received a call from my sister on the way to the ceremony and had to turn my car around and catch the first flight back to Karachi.

What do you know of sacrifice? Need I tell you of York's dead . . . of Sandal Castle? My brother did survive the battle, his first. He was seventeen and he entreated them to spare his life. They cut his throat. Their heads were then impaled on York's Micklegate Bar to please the House of Lancaster, to please a harlot and a madman. She had my father's head crowned with straw and she left a spike between the two. . . . That one, she said, was for York's other son.

She finally cannot stand the pressure of the gUilt, and she kills herself.