Quotes About Tragedy

He's never been close to a tragedy that barbaric, never experienced a shock so primitive that it shakes him to the very core of his beliefs. In short, Nicolás has never had a fundamental change of heart.

TODA MI FAMILIA ESTÁ MUERTA POR MI CULPA

Less than two weeks ago, dirt on the floor in her hallway was a thing that could annoy her. It's unimaginable. The reality of what happened is so much worse than the very worst of her imaginary fears had ever been.

This is not the kind of thing that happens, ever. Not even here. Do you know anyone else who's lost sixteen family members in one day?" Meredith glares at him, but he plows ahead. "We have to help them. If the suffering of our friends means

Batty had been blown up, drowned, smashed on the rocks, or some combination of the three. And it was all Skye's fault.

ONE OF LIFE'S great blessings is that death and tragedy are never allowed to take full possession. Life goes on. People say it bitterly, as if one ought to be occupied solely with the current disaster. In fact we couldn't cope if, in the midst of crisis, people didn't eat and drink and relax a bit and comfort one another.

Life is a drama full of tragedy and comedy. You should learn to enjoy the comic episodes a little more.

She had to treat it like a tactical error, not a human tragedy, because she was not sure that his unfinished jigsaw of a brain understood sadness and loss.

The death for the driver was egregiously bad: being impaled is never anyone's exit of choice.

I love John Irving's stuff. It's that marriage of comedy and tragedy. It's really terrific.

The young man had lost his mentor, his home, and his brother, all because of the actions of a single night.

Jones generally forbade drinking alcohol, but on this night at the Geary Boulevard temple he told the P.C. members that it was all right for once. Each of them drank some, and after their cups were emptied Jones informed them that their wine had been laced with poison—all of them would die within forty-five minutes to an hour. There was no antidote. They were doomed.

Carol, a swing-shift cocktail waitress in the Bird of Paradise's show lounge had gotten home (guesswork, here) around 2:15 - 2:30, poured herself a glass of milk, and had opened the back door of the kitchen for reasons unknown. (Fingerprints were later found on the outside knob that, while smudged, didn't belong to either girl.) She had opened the door, and died. Suddenly, quietly, without disturbing her sleeping roommate only a few feet away.

Wars are indeed fought by children, by young people who have little to say in where they are sent to die.

That is the tragedy of everyday life: when you are in it, you can never see your self clearly.

Siempre son cosas minúsculas las que determinan las catástrofes.

Como él, millares de inocentes en el mundo viajaban en coches oscuros, con los ojos vendados, tragando su propia sangre, hacia un destino inicuo. El destino de la víctima es siempre el mismo: ¡terrible!

These people know the reality and laugh at it. Such laughter has little concern with what is funny. It is often bitter and sometimes a little mad, for it is the laugh under the mask of tragedy, and also the laughter that masks tears. They are the same. It is the laughter of people who value love and friendship and plenty, who have lived with terror and death and hate. - , Return to Laughter (1954)

Modern nonreligious man assumes a tragic existence and his existential choice is not without its greatness.

Since the death of his daughter, a consumptive, he had not thrashed a woman; he lived alone.

It was pitch dark. I could hear only the violin, and it was as though Juliek's soul were the bow. He was playing his life. The whole of his life was gliding on the strings--his last hopes, his charred past, his extinguished future. He played as he would never play again...When I awoke, in the daylight, I could see Juliek, opposite me, slumped over, dead. Near him lay his violin, smashed, trampled, a strange overwhelming little corpse.

I have learned two lessons in my life: first, there are no sufficient literary, psychological, or historical answers to human tragedy, only moral ones. Second, just as despair can come to one another only from other human beings, hope, too, can be given to one only by other human beings.

Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.

I shall never forget Juliek. How could I forget this concert given before an audience of the dead and dying? Even today, when I hear that particular piece by Beethoven, my eyes close and out of the darkness emerges the pale and melancholy face of my Polish comrade bidding farewell to an audience of dying men.