Quotes About Tragedy

When you die, you'll be wearing your white dress with red roses, and your hair will be long and falling around your shoulders. When they shoot you, up on your damn roof or walking alone on the street, your blood will look like another red rose on your dress, and no one will notice, not even you when you bleed out for Mother Russia.

Simply, this is what she believed: she believed that the universe showed each of us certain things, that it made certain things open. Many people lived a peace life with nothing ever happening to them. But into some families other things fell. Some families were afflicted with random tragedies - car accidents, plane accidents, hang gliding accidents, bus crashes, knifing, drownings, scarves getting caught under the wheels of their Rolls Royces, breaking their necks.

Slightly less time than it takes one woman to make one life, they managed to snuff out a million and a half lives.

If they had stayed together for years, and he went off to war, and when he came back, their house had burned down, and she was gone, and he searched for her across the scorched South, and when he finally found her, he took her in his arms and pressed her to his lips. [...] He might say, I have searched behind the sun for you, at the bottom of the earth for you. [...] He might say, my love , I have found you again.

Tatiana le pidió a Dimitri que se marchara y después subió a la azotea, donde rogó para que le cayera una bomba. Vio

I'm going to die with Alexander's hand on my face, Tatiana thought. That is not a bad way to die. I cannot move. I can't get up. Just can't. She closed her eyes and felt herself drifting. Through the haze in front of her she heard Alexander's voice. "Tatiana, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you like I've never loved anyone in my whole life. Now, get up. For me, Tatia. For me, please get up and go take care of your sister. Go on. And I'll take care of you.

Mas, infelizmente, o que se sente, dia a dia [...] é o homem simples esmagado, diminuído e acomodado, convertido em espectador, dirigido pelo poder dos mitos que forças sociais poderosas criam para ele. Mitos que, voltando-se contra ele, o destroem e aniquilam. É o homem tragicamente assustado, temendo a convivência autêntica e até duvidando de sua possibilidade.

Uma das grandes, se não a maior, tragédia do homem moderno está em que é hoje dominado pela força dos mitos e comandado pela publicidade organizada, ideológica ou não, e por isso vem renunciando cada vez, sem o saber, á sua capacidade de decidir.

Her sentimental sissy eyes watched as they turned her virginal tablecloth embroidered with so much love into a mayhem of murder and drool. Her seamstress sissy eyes saw the off-white linen turned into a violet-colored crime sheet, the drenched shroud of a nation where her angels and birds were drowning.

Rafferty gripped his brother's shoulder and pushed him in the direction of his wife. She was rolling on the fresh-turned earth of Charlie's grave now, and her cries were no longer human. "Go hold her. Go on, even if she fights you, but, dammit, hold her." Go on, brother, before I do, because if I do, you ain't ever getting her back .

Later on I heard that one of the pigs had committed suicide on the quay. It escaped after they had hoisted it from the boat and ran straight for the edge and jumped into the water and there it was crushed between the boat and the wharf until it drowned. It did not even scream.

Goddamnit, I hate murder more than just about anything," said Sheriff Red Jetty. "It can just ruin a day.

I weep for Adonais [John Keats]—he is dead!Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tearsThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise!

An old, mad, blind, despised and dying king.

Sorrow, terror, anguish, despair itself are often the chosen expressions of an approximation to the highest good. Our sympathy in tragic fiction depends on this principle; tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain. This is the source also of the melancholy which is inseparable from the sweetest melody. The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.

Oh, weep for Adonais—he is dead! Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; For he is gone, where all things wise and fair Descend—oh, dream not that the amorous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

We think of death and loss as tragic twins, but in fact it is loss that hurts us.

Who has suffered? The families of the dead, no doubt. But a greater loss was inflicted on Pakistan because, as I said, we lost the pillars of our society.

And another adventure draws to a close with the classic happy ending. Happy except for the fact that Berk is dead, Aylee is gone, and Gwynn is a soulless vegetable. At least the bad guy got away! Ok, so the ending wasn't so happy, but hey, you can be happy to know nothing else can go wrong!

The world was a grand confusion. Finally, when I was drunk, and my mind couldn't do what I wanted it to do, I went home. I would lie alone In the dark, feeling that I was a character in a story that had lost its plot." Sann "Don't ever use the word tragedy again. You tell what happened, and let the reader say it's a tragedy. If you're crying, the reader won't.

In Mexico, I first encountered the attitude that was missing from the optimistic sense of living in the United States: a tragic sense of life. Such a sense doesn't force us into a somber cone of depression and futility; it urges the opposite. The tragic sense opens a human being to the exuberant joys of the present. To laughter, carnal ity, the comical varieties of love, to music and art, to the small human glories of the day.

She had all the best things wrong with her—incest, insanity, drug addiction, bulimia, alopecia: you name it. All the perfect stuff for a memoir. She's so lucky.

A furtive light knifed through the fog to reveal a singular mirage: the marching cavalry appeared suspended between earth and sky. Libbie Custer shivered with a presentiment of tragedy. "The future of the heroic band seemed revealed, and already there seemed a premonition in the supernatural translation as their forms were reflected from the opaque mist of the early dawn.