Quotes About Tragedy

He fell for an eighteen-year old girl with one of those deepdown spooky loves that made him so sad and happy he shot her just to keep the feeling going.

Art invites us to know beauty and to solicit it, summon it, from even the most tragic of circumstances.

They were, in fact and at last, free. And the lives of these old black women were synthesized in their eyes -- a puree of tragedy and humor, wickedness and serenity, truth and fantasy.

nothing remains but Pecola and the unyielding earth. Cholly Breedlove is dead; our innocence too. The seeds shriveled and died; her baby too. There is really nothing more to say—except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.

One by fire, one by water, two of what he had so intensely loved gone, he thought. He couldn't lose a third.

The deceased was the tragic hero, the survivors the innocent victims; there was the omnipresence of the deity, strophe and antistrophe of the chorus of mourners led by the preacher. There was grief over the waste of life, the stunned wonder at the ways of God, and the restoration of order in nature at the graveyard.

In the eyes of Hayek and his contemporaries, the European tragedy had thus been brought about by the shortcomings of the Left: first through its inability to achieve its objectives and then thanks to its failure to withstand the challenge from the Right. Each of them, albeit in different ways, arrived at the same conclusion: the best—indeed the only—way to defend liberalism and an open society was to keep the state out of economic life.

It's my belief that history is a wheel. 'Inconstancy is my very essence,' says the wheel. Rise up on my spokes if you like but don't complain when you're cast back down into the depths. Good time pass away, but then so do the bad. Mutability is our tragedy, but it's also our hope. The worst of time, like the best, are always passing away.

Good times pass away, but then so do the bad. Mutability is our tragedy, but it is also our hope. The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away.

You know how to shoot?"- Emma "Yes. My dad taught me everything about gun safety. He was an expert." - Heather "What happened to him?" -Shanna "He was...shot." -Heather

It's an Irish story, love, Mrs. Wylltson said. We don't do happy endings.

Al fin y al cabo, no sería la primera que moría de amor; en ese sentido estaba en buena compañía: la Sirenita, Julieta, Pocahontas, la Dama de las Camelias, Madame Butterfly, y ahora también yo, Gwendolyn Shepard.

People who read Anne Lamott, like people who read Anne Rice, believe that tragedy is romantic, but the people who read Anne Lamott believe it ironically.

Jenny dies in my arms. Goes to sleep, doesn't wake up. My tears taste of blood.

We all have that burning question about what happens if we lose somebody we love, especially if we lose them tragically. We wonder what fear was going on, we wonder if we could have reached out and touched them, held their hand, looked in their eyes, been there.

You are! You're staring at me and accusing me!" She thew down her tea. "But I didn't kill my only child, Kyle, bury him in the dirt floor of the basement and construct an elaborate fantasy world! No, I did not!

Tragedy, Lazaar told her, is the story in which the liar is lying to himself; in comedy, the liar is lying to everyone else.

I also worry that my reporting will become this deluge of tragedy for people, who like myself, unable or uncertain of what to do, let it wash over them. Some African journalists call it poverty porn—stories or images of intense suffering designed solely for emotional impact, but often have the effect of shutting people down rather than helping them step up.

For nearly twenty years, he'd produced these iconic photographs of the world's war zones and he suspected he was alone in seeing what he'd done.  Far from exposing the truth, he'd reduced human tragedy to the level of pornography, or worse, for pornographers were at least honest.

Buster only shrugged and then the curtain fell, not to rise again this night. And thus ended the story, though somewhat premature, of Juliet and her Romeo. More woe, of course, would follow. Six months later, at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, Buster and Annie sat at an otherwise empty table and finished the glasses of wine left by people old enough to be nonplussed by free alcohol.

Marathas, Jats and Gujars who robbed and killed any man they could lay their hands on and raped any woman who fell into their clutches. It took me five days to reach Agra. By then Nadir's horde was busy pillaging and looting Delhi. I said to myself: 'No matter a city can be rebuilt and repopulated but no power on earth can put together a heart that has been shattered.' Agra was the city of my heart's ruination. I

Muslims said the Hindus had planned and started the killing. According to the Hindus, the Muslims were to blame. The fact is, both sides killed. Both shot and stabbed and speared and clubbed. Both tortured. Both raped.

The great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.

the death toll on the Diamond and the Swallow was terrible. Between the two vessels, thirty-two passengers and crew—well over 10 percent of their total complement—had died at sea, their bodies thrown overboard. Somehow, during the crossing, perhaps at the height of the storm, two of the women passengers gave birth to babies. Not surprisingly given the circumstances, the two children, both boys, died in mid-Atlantic.