Best 1203 quotes in «tragedy quotes» category

Don't you get too greedy, Death. You already have taken more than your fair share today. You can't have me yet.

Dostoyevsky's indignation at Afanasy Fet's innocent lyrics, "Whispers, timid breath, the nightingales trilled," is well known. This is simply disgraceful, wrote Dostoyevsky indignantly, and he speculated what an insulting impression such empty verses would have made if they'd been given to someone to read during the Lisbon earthquake! Some people protested: Yes, of course, Dostoyevsky is right, but we aren't having an earthquake, and we aren't in Lisbon, and after all, are we not allowed to love, to listen to nightingales, to admire the beauty of a beloved woman? But Dostoyevsky's argument held sway for a long time. It did so because of the way Russians perceive Russian life: as a constant, unending Lisbon earthquake.

Do you believe that evil and tragedy are always planned? You don’t think Fortune has anything to do with it?

Drinking the mystery punch that will always get her

Each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yelled out Like syllable of dolor.

Early tragedy is no excuse for cynicism and apathy.

Eğer gönüller gerçekten aydınlıksa, güneş ışığına gerek kalmaz.Başkalarının esirgediği şeyi biz kendi kalbimizde buluyoruz..

Either I’ve got a wart on my nose they find curious, or I’ve grown a tail, Albie Merani muttered to himself. Just then he thought. I’d better get a move on, got work to do. He hurried across to some stairs, heading down deeper into station, then followed the signs to the pod station.

Eppure a volte per capire era sufficiente saper ascoltare. Si ricordò di quella volta che era riuscito a descrivere le conseguenze che il terremoto dell'Irpinia dell'80 aveva avuto sull'equilibrio di quella comunità grazie a una semplice intervista. Era bastato l'incontro con un uomo che si aggirava su una collina di macerie a Sant'Angelo dei Lombardi e raccoglieva piccole cose intorno a sé, oggetti all'apparenza privi di importanza: un fermaglio, un posacenere, una penna. Cercava con pazienza tra le pietre e le macerie e, appena qualcosa attirava la sua attenzione, si chinava a prenderla con delicatezza, come si fa con le more nei cespugli, e la riponeva in una scatola di scarpe vuota. Marco si avvicinò e gli chiese dov'era la sua casa e in che condizioni fosse. -"È tutta qui. Ci stiamo camminando sopra." rispose l'uomo, senza scomporsi. -"E la sua famiglia?" -"Stiamo camminando sopra anche a quella. Mia moglie è proprio qui sotto" disse indicando la punta delle scarpe. "Qui siamo sopra la cucina. L'avevo lasciata lì ed ero andato a prendere la legna per il cammino quando è arrivata la scossa. I miei due bambini sono più in là. In quel punto, vede? Quando sono uscito stavano giocando nella loro cameretta. Devono essere ancora lì. E ora, se vuole scusarmi..." e andò via, lungo quel cimitero di macerie, cercando frammenti della sua vita perduta.

Everybody wants love but not everyone wants to love.

Et voilà. Maintenant le ressort est bandé. Cela n'a plus qu'à se dérouler tout seul. C'est cela qui est commode dans la tragédie. On donne le petit coup de pouce pour que cela démarre, rien, un regard pendant une seconde à une fille qui passe et lève les bras dans la rue, une envie d'honneur un beau matin, au réveil, comme de quelque chose qui se mange, une question de trop qu'on se pose un soir… C'est tout. Après, on n'a plus qu'à laisser faire. On est tranquille. Cela roule tout seul. C'est minutieux, bien huilé depuis toujours. La mort, la trahison, le désespoir sont là, tout prêts, et les éclats, et les orages, et les silences, tous les silences : le silence quand le bras du bourreau se lève à la fin, le silence au commencement quand les deux amants sont nus l'un en face de l'autre pour la première fois, sans oser bouger tout de suite, dans la chambre sombre, le silence quand les cris de la foule éclatent autour du vainqueur - et on dirait un film dont le son s'est enrayé, toutes ces bouches ouvertes dont il ne sort rien, toute cette clameur qui n'est qu'une image, et le vainqueur, déjà vaincu, seul au milieu de son silence…

Even though it's somebody else's tragedy rather than my own. I was there and I laughed along with all the rest and I guess that makes it part of my story also.

Even amidst tragedy there is laughter, sometimes farce. The degree of farce depends on who is running the tragedy.

Even the most comic moment contains an element of melancholy; even the deepest tragedy harbors a trace of the ironic.

Every affair is a fairy tale or a tragedy.

Every culture that has lost myth has lost, by the same token, its natural healthy creativity. Only a horizon ringed about with myths can unify a culture. The forces of imagination and the Apollonian dream are saved only by myth from indiscriminate rambling. The images of myth must be the daemonic guardians, ubiquitous but unnoticed, presiding over the growth of the child's mind and interpreting to the mature man his life and struggles.

Every great tragedy forms a fertile soil in which a great recovery can take root and blossom...but only if you plant the seeds.

Everyone's life is a tragedy

Every love story is a tragedy, in the end, but that's what makes them so beautiful, so cherished in the minds and hearts of those who remember them.

Every normal family is one tragedy away from complete implosion.

Everyone wears masks.They come in all different shapes and sizes.The only problem with trying one on is that it fits. How easily we fall into the trap that we don’t have to be who we really are.How easily we convince ourselves that we need to cover up what we were born to be.It’s a tragedy that fear keeps us from our destiny.It’s hell when the person you were created to be is covered up by some cheap imposter

Falling so madly in love with you is a tragedy. Nothing in my world will ever seem so beautiful again.

Every triumph has to overcome the fear of tragedy.

Evil spawns mayhem while benevolence repairs; doing good comforts the living while prayers are extended to the one who attends to the dead.

Everything else seemed trivial; like talking about your favourite film while your airplane is falling out of the sky.

Failure becomes success when it finds positive minds; Tragedy becomes melody when it lands in positive hands. With positivity, possibility is assured!

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark. (Act 5, Scene 2)

For every choice there is a tragedy

For all those who believed me, and for all those who didn't. It can't be easy hearing things that you shouldn't.

For a moment, blake said nothing. After chewing on her venom for a moment, he shrugged. "I would rather hate you for who I am than love me for who I am not

For a dream to die, something so tragic would have definitely gone wrong! Be careful you don’t kill your own dreams.

For him the tragedy of Homo sapiens is that the least fit to survive breed the most.

From drama to tragedy is a short step.

For maybe the first time he could remember, he was very seriously thinking about how to best kill someone he’d never even seen.

For there has never been a story nearly as tragic as the one of Frankenstein, except for that of Johnny Heart and his Francesca Valentine.

For many potential Bible readers, this expectation that the Bible is univocal is paralyzing. You notice what seem to be contradictions or tensions between different voices in the text. You can't find an obvious way to reconcile them. You figure that it must be your problem. You don't know how to read it correctly, or you're missing something. You're not holy enough to read the Holy Bible. It might even be sacrilege for you to try. If the Bible is God's perfect infallible Word, then any misunderstanding or ambiguity must be the result of our own depravity. That is, our sinful nature as fallen creatures is what separates us from God, and therefore from God’s Word. So you either give up or let someone holier than thou tell you "what it really says." I think that's tragic. You're letting someone else impoverish it for you, when in fact you have just brushed up against the rich polyvocality of biblical literature.

Francis stared down at the Duchess of York's letter. He swallowed, then read aloud in a husky voice, "It was showed by John Sponer that King Richard, late mercifully reigning upon us, was through great treason piteously slain and murdered, to the great heaviness of this City." As Margaret listened, the embittered grey eyes had softened, misted with sudden tears. "My brother may lie in an untended grave," she said, "but he does not lack for an epitaph.

From "The Jasmine Farm" by Elizabeth von Arnim, c 1934: "...except for a little trickle of water somewhere near, and the piping, on an oleander bush, of a solitary bird, so great a stillness surrounded her that in the whole world there might have been no one but herself. Relaxed she sat, her hands palm upwards on her lap, her mouth open because she was too tired to keep it shut. If she had known it, she was being exquisitely welcomed. The scented air, floating past her, lingered to pat her face. From a row of Madonna lilies, under the windows of the house, came fragrance, crossing the grass to greet her. Slanting shadows cooled her. The bird piped away, as if to her alone, songs of wisdom and good cheer. She was surrounded, companioned, pressed upon by beauty; and, for all she saw of it, it might have been Tottenham Court Road in a fog. 'Lift up your heart,' something whispered--'foolish woman, lift up your heart.' But of what use is it to exhort the absorbed, those who are steeped in their own particular tragedies, to do things like that? She heard the whisper, she recognised that familiar words were drifting through her mind, and all she did about it was listlessly to wonder that anybody had enough energy to lift up anything.

Game or no, she would someday die, as all living beings did. But that wasn't the tragedy. Nor was there tragedy in being a pawn. All souls are, if not of eternal beings, then as pawns of their own bodies. The game, whatever shape it takes, lasts only as long as the body holds out. The tragedy, every time, is choosing something other than love.

Garfield's assassination attempt made "the whole nation care".

God allows us to face the tension whether we like it or not.

He hadn't known her, didn't know her, of course. There wasn't the time.

God is well able to turn your tragedies into triumphs.

Going back to normal after someone had died was never easy. When that someone had been brutally killed, all bets were off.

Hands that never touch. Lips that never meet. The Almost Lovers, never to be.

Have you ever thought, when something dreadful happens, "a moment ago, things were not like this; let it be then, not now, anything but now?" And you try and try to remake then, but you know you can't. So you try to hold the moment quite still and not let it move on and show itself. - Nine Coaches Waiting

God knows whatever comes your way, in any given circumstance.

Good poetry reveals the beauty of joy and tragedy.

Grief is times bailiff sent to evict you from your old life. Its black warrant demands of you hard labour. There can be no escape of reprieve. You must toil laying down the foundation stones of acceptance, stone by stone, until you have paved your way to your new life.

Had he not resembled My father as he slept I had done't!" Macbeth