Best 1080 quotes in «cry quotes» category

God is reciprocally responding to the cry of the afflicted.

Gray. The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me. Gray...

Grief gives you a hundred reasons to cry; hope gives you a thousand reasons to smile, joy gives you a million reasons to laugh, and love gives you billion reasons to rejoice.

Hana?" Lena says softly. "Are you okay?" That single stupid question breaks me. All the metal fingers relax me at once, and the tears they've been holding back come surging up at once. Suddenly I am sobbing and telling her everything: about the raid, and the dogs, and the sounds of skulls cracking underneath regulator's nightsticks. Thinking about it again makes me feel like I might puke. At a certain point, Lena puts her arms around me and starts murmuring things into my hair. I don't even know what she's saying, and I don't care. JUst having her here—solid, real, on my side—makes me feel better than I have in weeks. Slowly I manage to stop crying, swallowing back the hiccups and sobs that are still running through me. I try to tell her that I've missed her, and that I've been stupid and wrong, but my voice is muffled and thick

Hal—come sit!” Rachel is looking back. She motions toward a sliver of space between Jonah and Madison. “There’s room.” “No. There’s not.” Luke says it without even turning around. “How do you and Hallie know each other, anyway?” “We met in the bathroom. Earlier tonight. She seems cool.” Rachel smiles at Hallelujah. Hallelujah can’t bring herself to smile back. “Sure, if you like the strong, silent type. I don’t. No offense.” Luke laughs, and Brad laughs, and the girls from Knoxville take that as their cue to laugh too. Like it was actually funny. Rachel doesn’t laugh. She’s still smiling, but now it’s like she’s not sure whether she should be. “Come on, Hal,” she says. “We’ll make room.” But Luke’s shaking his head. “Sorry. Guess I’m not being clear. There might be room for someone. But there’s not room for Hallie. Hal. Whatever you wanna call her. Besides. She has to get back. Curfew.” Rachel looks from Luke to Hallelujah, confused. “We’re all breaking curfew.” “Yeah, but it’s Hallie’s fault we have early curfew in the first place. And it’s her fault we have so many chaperones to deal with.” Luke’s counting on his fingers, holding them in the air. “Plus, they’ll probably be checking up on her. So she can’t stay.” “How is all of that her fault?” Rachel asks. “What’d she do?” “Yeah, Luke. What’d she do?” It’s Jonah. Hallelujah is kind of shocked to hear his voice. It’s low, with a dark undercurrent that’s unfamiliar to her. Then again, it’s been months since they talked. And a lot has changed. “If I remember it right,” Jonah goes on, still staring into the fire, “she wasn’t the only one.” Luke looks over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Jonah says. “Just making an observation.” “An observation,” Luke repeats. “Yeah.” There’s a moment of silence. It’s uncomfortable. Hallelujah feels like the night sounds get louder to compensate. The wind rustling tree branches. The hum of cicadas. Birdcalls. They’re suffocating her. Then Luke shakes his head and laughs. “Whatever. Hallie still has to go.” He swings around to look at her directly. “What are you waiting for?” Hallelujah blinks, wishing that small movement could make her vanish. Everyone in the circle is staring. Waiting for her to leave. Their eyes cut into her. She takes two steps backward, tears clouding her vision. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. She turns and starts walking away. Walking, not running. She doesn’t want to give Luke that satisfaction.

He cried, almost entire night. He cried alone in his small shed. That was only game that he could play without needing another person to participate.

Happiness grows best in the soil of contentment.

He didn’t mind Drake so much. Drake was a creep. It was the girl who made Orc want to cry. She was a monster. Like Orc. Begging for death. Begging for someone to let her go to her Jesus. Kill me, kill me, kill me, she begged every day and every night. Orc took a deep swig. Tears seeped from his human eyes and fell into the rocky crevices of his face.

He closed his eyes and wanted to cry, as the reality of his situation set in.

Hence the migratory bird was about to leave then the other bird just querked and weeped

He placed his hand on Willem's arm. 'Willem, don't cry.' 'I'm not going to,' he said. 'I can do other things in life besides cry, you know,' although he was no longer sure that was even true.

His other hand finds my cheek, and he wipes away my tears with his thumb. The chocolate scent overwhelms me as he bends over and whispers in my ear, “No, Cassie. No, no, no.” I throw my arm around his neck and press his dry cheek against my wet one. I’m shaking like an epileptic, and for the first time I can feel the weight of the quilts on the top of my toes because the blinding dark sharpens your other senses. I’m a bubbling stew of random thoughts and feelings. I’m worried my hair might smell. I want some chocolate. This guy holding me—well, it’s more like I was holding him—has seen me in all my naked glory. What did he think about my body? What did I think about my body? Does God really care about promises? Do I really care about God? Are miracles something like the Red Sea parting or more like Evan Walker finding me locked in a block of ice in a wilderness of white? “Cassie, it’s going to be okay,” he whispers into my ear, chocolate breath.

Her eyes are liquid and draining out of her.

He took a deep breath in, still managing himself as if he were resisting temptation. He was a soldier, his father was in the service, too. Crying wasn't something Morell men did. They just didn't. He hadn't cried at Robbie Morell's funeral. So he wasn't going to now.

Human life begins by crying! Once a baby is born, it cries out. Maybe it cries in joy! So, the simple equation goes- we smile when we feel happy and we cry when we feel sad. As happiness and sadness are connected together like the body and the soul, we cannot remove sorrow or suffering from the human life forever. As long as life is present, gladness and unhappiness will ever be there. They will keep coming in one form or another. It is just ironical that we want to be happy forever and never want to cry. Even trying to remove sadness entirely from life is like being utterly selfish and going against the natural laws! So, the beauty of life is to accept both pleasure and misery gracefully. Hence, we should never forget that we did not smile first but cried when we were born!

I could lose my mind, your love drives me crazy, and I ignore the reason why I'm crying at everytime I remember it's not reciprocal and you're saying that you're sorry because you don't show everything.

I am afraid that if I start to sob, I will never stop until I shrivel up like a raisin.

I believe that things we cry over because they are lost, can never be compared to things we will receive because of our loses. God is a great restorer!

I could not escape a feeling that this was my own funeral, and you do not cry in that case.

I cry as the laughter inside me drowns and descends into the water with the ghosts of our union.

I count everything loss, to gain anything under the power of grace in Jesus Christ.

I cry too much to be butch." The artist deadpanned, raising an eyebrow filled with intimidation at the young woman.

I am sitting here, staring at the dark sky and drunk with memories. laughing like a maniac while crying an ocean. Somewhere it feels like somebody is kissing my lips passionately. While they are continuously pushing a knife, deep into my chest.

I can't remember how to cry.

I cry and wonder how I'm going to fall asleep because sleeping means waking and going through all this again

I cry everyday but for a limited time

I don't sing like this often. It makes my throat hurt.

If anyone hurts you, it's their mistake. Learn to cry over your mistakes alone.

I follow the path we’ve taken so many times this summer – across the front, down the street, cut back through a neighbor’s yard, down the stairs to the beach, past the pier, through the campfire labyrinth, up to the deck of the Shack, and straight into Sam’s arms. Without speaking, he kisses me hard on the mouth and I kiss him back, sobbing and crumpling into his chest like a broken puppet.

If a woman laughs when you hurt her, you ought to cry, for you have lost her; if she cries, you may laugh, for you have a worthy soulmate.

If God could run out of grace, He would’ve for me by now. And yet every morning I wake up, He says, “There is more, there is still more.

If on any given day you don't cry from rejoicing in the beauty of the world, then you have not lived that day.

If you are not satisfied with the things you have got then stop crying and start working and go get those things that will satisfy you.

If the world gives you a thousand reasons to cry, find a thousand and one reasons to smile.

If we can laugh, fine. And if we’ve got to cry, we’ve got to cry.

If tears were painful, no one would cry.

If you are thinking whether to cry or laugh, cry.

If your eyes can not cry, then your gut will." The head and heart may be in denial of your human needs, but the gut will always carry the wisdom of your needs met and unmet, and thusly respond.

If you don’t know your maker, chances are that you will never know yourself. If you don’t know yourself, you will bury your meals and complain of poverty!

If you really lose the will, and there's no copy of you to do , in your possession if you realize that no one does it like you then you have all the will

If your tears have lost the ability to hide your pain... why shedding them?

I have died at the ripe age of twenty. Smile, for the world didn't get a chance to disappoint me. I have died at the mature age of ninety. Smile, for my life was more than satisfying. I have died suddenly—out of the blue. Smile, for I didn't have to fall ill before you. I have died from a long illness. Smile, for I had the chance to say goodbye. I did not want to leave this Earth. But smile, for I am still here among you. Why are you crying? Can you not see I am smiling?

I give myself a good cry if I need it. But then I concentrate on all the good things still in my life. On the people who are coming to see me. On the stories I'm going to hear. On you - if it's Tuesday. Because we're Tuesday people.

i have laughed more than daffodils and cried more than June.

I know guys aren’t supposed to cry, but I cried a bunch that night. And I guess that’s when I decided being good at something didn’t mean you had to do it. Just ‘cause something’s easy doesn’t make it right.

I just kept on crying. For my dad. For my mom, For my siblings. For myself. For not feeling good enough. For not feeling enough. For doing what I wanted to do despite all the noes and the eye rolls and all the things I'd had to give up along the way. All the things I'd lost that I might someday regret more than I already did.

I hit my chest with my fist, accusing my body of failing. I’ve had eighty years to adjust and never have. Am I broken? We’ll start there. No. You’re not broken. You are possibly the most loyal and faithful siren I’ve ever had. So, one of the best? Is it bad to tell You that I don’t really want to be good at this job? She swirled around my face and hair, trying to console me. No one with a beating heart could enjoy killing their own. I’m not human, I argued. I’m less than that. Kahlen, my sweet girl, you are still human. Your body may be unchanging, but your soul still bends and sways. I assure you, in the deepest part of yourself, you are still connected to humanity. I kept crying, my tears joining Her waves. Then why can’t I cope with any human contact? Elizabeth has had her lovers. As have many a siren before her. It’s not surprising, considering how beautiful you are. If it’s so typical, then why can’t I do that? She laughed, a motherly sound in my head, as if She knew me better than I knew myself. Because you and Elizabeth are very different people. She’s looking for passion and excitement. In her dark world, those interludes are like fireworks. You long for relationships, for love. It’s why you protect your sisters so fiercely, why you always return to Me even when I don’t call, and why you mourn so heavily at taking lives.

I lived my grief; I slept mourning and ate sorrow and drank tears. I ignored all else.

I'll never let it happen. I'll do everything in my power to keep my sister at home. "I don't want to have a civilized discussion. My parents want to send my sister to a facility behind my back and my head feels like it's about to split open. Leave me alone, okay?" Something is sticking out of my pocket. It's Alex's bandanna. Isabel isn't a friend, yet she helped me. And Alex, a boy who cared about me last night more than my own boyfriend did, acted as my hero and is urging me to be real. Do I even know how to be real? I clutch the bandanna to my chest. And I allow myself to cry.

I'll never let you brood over my numbness As long as your onion love I peel and cry I'll never let you taste my salty confusions As long as your closed-door I latch and sigh - From the poem- Behind