Best 1080 quotes in «cry quotes» category

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

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 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 can't remember how to cry.

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 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 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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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

If tears were painful, no one would cry.

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

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 you are thinking whether to cry or laugh, cry.

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!

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.

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

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

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 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 have laughed more than daffodils and cried more than June.

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 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 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

I loved you, I trusted you, but you lied to me, deceived my heart and poisoned my life. Now I'm corrupt, I hurt people all in rage of you, but I can't help it. I'm nothing to you now, never was, but your acting still made it hurt. So thanks to you, I hate you too, but my heart will always cry.

i love good cries, loud sobs that soak your pillow that kind that come at the end of a perfect book you're gasping for air as droplets of salt water trickle down your cheeks into the corners of your mouth as your chest rises and falls and your vision is blurred by the tears but your mind is so clear and your every thought in that moment feels so meaningful and important and right it feels okay to just let it all out it makes you feel like you are free

I'm afraid to hope but I can't help it, and the idea of hoping in this most hopeless of all places makes me want to cry.

I part my lips, but no words come out. I want to cry. Want to beg. Want to scream. But mostly, I want to hold him until I know he’s going to be okay. Then I want him to hold me until I’m okay, too.

Incessant smiling is one of the deadly tools used by someone whose intent is to make others cry.

In a corner you condense yourself and cry- in the same corner you caress and kiss. Life is this, something different each time.

Instead of hating, my heart cries mercy! Mercy on me! Mercy on me! Mercy on me!

I regret all the prayers that do not shed tears.

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears. While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick’s furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

I spent days and nights staring at the blank page, searching the deepest corners of my mind: who have I been, what have I seen, what did I learn? I thought about all the nights I've spent outside, all the times I laid down to cry and how I took a deep breath every morning and decided to simply go on. Because what else is there to do? Decide that this is it? I quit, I'm done? Oh if I could find words to justify those feelings I've carried. I could write the thickest of books with explosions of emotions from a young girl's lost heart. I could make you see, make you hear, make you feel, at least a tiny fragment of what's out there.

İstediği zaman gözyaşlarını içine akıtıp gülümseyebilme yeteneğine sahip olmuştu.Bu yüzden de gözyaşlarının gerçek olup olmadığını o da anlamıyordu. Oscar'lı bir oyuncu gibiydi.

I thought you were dead,” I say. “It almost killed me.” “Did it?” His voice is neutral. “You made a pretty fast recovery.” “No. You don’t understand.” My throat is tight; I feel as though I’m being strangled. “I couldn’t keep hoping, and then waking up every day and finding out it wasn’t true, and you were still gone. I—I wasn’t strong enough.” He is quiet for a second. It’s too dark to see his expression: He is standing in shadow again, but I can sense that he is staring at me. Finally he says, “When they took me to the Crypts, I thought they were going to kill me. They didn’t even bother. They just left me to die. They threw me in a cell and locked the door.” “Alex.” The strangled feeling has moved from my throat to my chest, and without realizing it, I have begun to cry. I move toward him. I want to run my hands through his hair and kiss his forehead and each of his eyelids and take away the memory of what he has seen. But he steps backward, out of reach. “I didn’t die. I don’t know how. I should have. I’d lost plenty of blood. They were just as surprised as I was. After that it became a kind of game—to see how much I could stand. To see how much they could do to me before I’d—” He breaks off abruptly. I can’t hear any more; don’t want to know, don’t want it to be true, can’t stand to think of what they did to him there. I take another step forward and reach for his chest and shoulders in the dark. This time, he doesn’t push me away. But he doesn’t embrace me either. He stands there, cold, still, like a statue. “Alex.” I repeat his name like a prayer, like a magic spell that will make everything okay again. I run my hands up his chest and to his chin. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Suddenly he jerks backward, simultaneously finding my wrists and pulling them down to my sides. “There were days I would rather they have killed me.” He doesn’t drop my wrists; he squeezes them tightly, pinning my arms, keeping me immobilized. His voice is low, urgent, and so full of anger it pains me even more than his grip. “There were days I asked for it—prayed for it when I went to sleep. The belief that I would see you again, that I could find you—the hope for it—was the only thing that kept me going.” He releases me and takes another step backward. “So no. I don’t understand.

It did no good to cry, she had learned that early on.

It doesn't mean anything; It doesn't change anything, Except the way I see myself, And it's not supposed to do that. I shouldn't feel this way; I should cry this way, But I kind of do. Yeah, I kind of do.