Quotes About Tragedy

Floss is dead.

Death too quickly. Death without meaning.

Ashfur?" Ferncloud had left the nursery and was padding toward her brother. Lionpaw knew that their mother, Brindleface, had been killed by Tigerstar to give a different dog pack a taste for cats' blood.

she'd wished she'd died instead of Stonefur.

Oakheart was crouching beside Rainflower. Her eyes had clouded. Blood stained the rocks around her head. "She's dead." Oakheart turned and stared at Crookedjaw. "Our mother is dead.

Juniperkit, who had barely taken a breath before he died, and Dandelionkit, who had never been strong, and who had slowly weakened until she also died two moons later.

Ravenpaw might have made a fine warrior. His death has come too soon, and his loss will be felt by many of us for a long time." Empty words! thought Firepaw bitterly. What

There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.

But they both died in a hurricane when I was little, so now I get to say whatever the fuck I want." "Oh, snap!" Milo muttered under his breath.

Parzival: Nope. You got parents? Art3mis: They died. The flu. So I was raised by my grandparents. You got parentage? Parzival: No. Mine are dead too. Art3mis: It kinda sucks, doesn't it? Not having your parents around. Parzival: Yeah. But a lot of people are worse off than me. Art3mis: I tell myself that all the time.

They wrote in the old days that it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country. But in modern war, there is nothing sweet nor fitting in your dying. You will die like a dog for no good reason.

But in modern war you will die like a dog for no good reason.

It is there, in the final moments, for people whose farthest horizon has always been tomorrow, that one comprehends the profound tragedy circumscribing the life of the proletariat the world over.

Dead men by mass production––in one country after another––month after month and year after year. Dead men in winter and dead men in summer. Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous. Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them. These are the things that you at home need not even try to understand.

Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous. Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them. Those are the things that you at home need not even try to understand. To you at home they are columns of figures, or he is a near one who went away and just didn't come back. You didn't see him lying so grotesque and pasty beside the gravel road in France. We saw him, saw him by the multiple thousands. That's the difference.

The therapist, on the other hand, is commissioned to generate happy endings. This is made difficult by the complicated fact that while the therapist must try to save his patient from tragedy, he must also know the tragic factors in life and face them unflinchingly.

a sense, what is happy about a happy ending is that it says things will go on. Tragedy is the opposite. It ruptures continuity. The tragic event seems to bring the curtain down inexorably. That is perhaps tragedy's definitive condition.

T]he two fundamental tragedies of human existence, frustrated love and death

The mother had taken the visitors' room to sleep in ever since the day two months ago when Death had walked whitely into that larger room and frozen with his strange breath the father of her youngest child.

Par quelle triste fatalité l'homme ne peut-il jamais jouir à la fois de toutes les facultés de sa nature, de toutes les perfections dont elle n'est susceptible qu'à des âges différents?" (Mardi 9 octobre, 1849)

The words seemed so ridiculous. Only the flies benefited.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go.*

I knew it. I knew it. Born in a hotel room - and God damn it - died in a hotel room.

Mourning Becomes Electra