Best 1203 quotes in «tragedy quotes» category

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    Only the debris of wreckage, and not much of that, was left behind by the sharks who fed on tragedy: the fishermen, too, mourned the death of a living child.

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    OTHER lives may find their happiest moments infiltrated with tragedy, and their proudest touched with comedy. This had almost invariably been true of mine. My proudest hour found me, the newly elected president of the United Nations, perched atop three thick New York City telephone books given me in lieu of a cushion that I might see and be seen by the delegates below the podium.

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    ...our family became a place where you screamed for help but no one heard, not ever.

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    Our meeting was inevitable. Our love was terminal. But God and Goddess damn it, our daughter was no mistake at all.

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    Our pasts shape us,Sam.None of us the person he or she used to be,it's true, but what we are still contains a great proportion of what we once were.Nothing,not even suffering the worst kind of tragedy,alters us completely.At core,we are set in stone.

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    Our real tragedy as human beings is that we cave in to our doubts. We let our thoughts defeat us.

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    Our tragedy is their beauty. Our pain is their art. The beatific bereavement that is our life captured on a canvas for all the world to see.

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    Our tragedy is that first, we read nothing, if, we read; we understand nothing, if, we understand; we comply nothing. We should pray for the mercy for ourselves.

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    Our word Tragedy comes from the Greek, tragos-ode: “The song of the goat.” Anybody who has ever heard a goat attempt to sing will know why.

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    Out of what trifles grow the tragedies of life.

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    Out of every tragedy, " he said, "comes new strength.

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    ...Pain and tragedy and injustice happen - they happen to us all. I'd like to believe it's what you choose to do after such an experience that matters the most - that truly changes your life forever.

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    Pattie saw grief. Her eyes focused on a version of her own young self, and so many other children in Vietnam who grew up without parents, some abandoned because of their ethnicity, others because of tragedy. And her arms reached out wide.

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    People can act so nice, bringing you food and all, but in the end they are nothing but buzzards. Waiting to pick your bones.

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    Pleasure of tragedy is vicarious suicide

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    People who mock incidents in history such as 9/11 or the Holocaust, referring to it all as a hoax or stirring up crazy conspiracy theories about it, should really stop and think about their words first, both because it shows flaws in logic and rationality to deny the obvious, and because to play pretend with incidents which killed innocent people, well, that's just like laughing in the face of tragedy. It's as if to say, "no, it's not horrible enough that these people were killed, oh no, we have to drag on these incidents by indulging in melodramatic fantasies!" In essence this means that those who lost loved ones not only have to live with these losses forever, they also have to live with the people who deny that any of it ever happened. It does no good to forget history or to deny it. All it does is desensitize people; it tells them that it's all just a game, which then risks the possibility of nobody taking it seriously enough to prevent something similar from happening again.

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    Perché quella piccola voce ostinata nella nostra testa ci tormenta così?» disse , guardandoci. «Forse perché ci ricorda che siamo vivi, che siamo mortali, che abbiamo anime autonome - che, dopotutto, siamo troppo pavidi per cedere, ma che pure ci procurano un grave malessere? È una cosa terribile imparare da bambini che si è un essere separato dal resto del mondo, che niente e nessuno soffre i nostri medesimi solori di scottature alla lingua o di sbucciature alle ginocchia: che ognuno è solo con i propri acciacchi e le proprie pene, Ancor più terribile, invecchiando, scoprire che nessuna persona - non importa quanto vicina - potrà mai capirci davvero. I nostri io sono ciò che ci rende più infelici, ed è per questo che bramiamo perderli, non credere?

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    People use to say that time can change everything but as far as I know the nothing can change the tease inside your heart .

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    Perhaps this was one of the tragedies life plots for us: it is our destiny to become in old age what in youth we would have most despised.

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    ...rarely do the 'significant events' in our lives change us. At least, not in any way we want. The people who suffer tragedy and go on to greatness? They're the stuff of movies and TV shows and books, and--only very rarely--real life. Most of us just go on, the walking wounded, dealing with our lives. This doesn't make us bad--it just means we're not superheroes. It means we're just people, like everyone else.

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    (...)que morrer é acabar e amor não tem saída(...)

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    See? Memories aren't happy, they're sad. Don't you know anything?

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    Save me from the things that I love.

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    She'd been conceived as a goddess of justice. But this wasn't just. It wasn't right. And her husband's wrongful death would not go unavenged. Kissing cold lips Bathymaas laid him on the ground and covered his body with her cloak. Artemis gasped and shrank away from her as she rose to her feet and turned towards Apollo and his mother. For this, there would be hell to pay. And hers would be the hand that gathered the payment.

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    Shakespearean tragedies do not deal chiefly with the working-class people and focus mostly on the fall of the kings, princes, generals etc. because a beggar has nothing to lose but if a king loses everything suddenly and gets poor, then the readers or audience become so sad and feel like crying in the end!

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    She didn't need friends; she needed to be a bigger bitch. Chubby Chaser, 11/21/14. Available for preorder on Amazon.

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    She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

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    She knew for a fact that she wasn't going to sit around and wait for some miracle to happen. She wasn't going to watch the storm in front of her and pretend like nothing had happened. Yes, Allah is expecting her to be patient and keep on marching forward

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    She has decided to keep going, as anyone could tell by her closed eyes and calm expression. She realizes that all big decisions are ones that must be decided and decided again. She imagines that when you fall in love, you must decided to be in love a million times or more, and when you go to college, you must decide again and again to stay in college, and the same thing is true when you decide to run across the United States of America after a horrible tragedy. When you are a person who cares for any other person, you must decide again to care, she also understands.

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    She nailed it to the wall with her well-aimed dart, like a butterfly with no will whose sentence has always been written.

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    She has become someone that I am bound to forget her.

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    she is waiting the day she would stop writing about him in her daily book

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    She laid in the rubble of the vengeant storm that passed by. They found nothing on her breathing body, except the stains of her predator

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    Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty, beyond waht can be valued, rich or rare; no less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor; as much as child e'er loved, or father found; a love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; beyond all manner of so much I love you.

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    She thought men were saviors... ...And she looked for more in them than what they were... Only to rescue herself from those she wished would rescue her... And isn't that the most tragic lie... The lie where we tell what we wished were true and believe it...? She had an artificial memory, a prosthesis to a past that never was... She was like a party that no one ever went to... Like a cure...without a disease... And isn't that the greatest fear of all...to be ready with the answers to questions that no one asks anymore?

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    She was so full of holes now, she was like a Swiss cheese.

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    Simultaneously, the child's life-mongering energy felt a metamorphosis within itself, having lost all matter and yet still being summoned by intoxicating ideas, an aching fluency of desires, a liberating rearranging buoyancy.

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    She still held sorrows, but she was not made of them. Her life was not a tragedy. It was a history, and it was hers.

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    She wanted to touch him, to throw her arms around him — but something held her back. Maybe it was the fear that her arms would pass right through him, that she would have come all this way only to find a ghost after all. As though he’d been able to read her thoughts, he slowly angled toward her. He raised his hands and held his palms out to her. Isobel lifted her own hands to mirror his. He pressed their palms together, his fingers folding down to lace through hers. She felt a rush of warmth course through her, a relief as pure and sweet as spring rain. He was real. This was real. She had found him. She could touch him. She could feel him. Finally they were together. Finally, finally, they could forget this wasted world and go home. "I knew it wasn’t true," she whispered. "I knew you wouldn’t stop believing." He drew her close. Leaning into him, she felt him press his lips to her forehead in a kiss. As he spoke, the cool metal of his lip ring grazed her skin, causing a shudder to ripple through her. "You..." His voice, low and breathy, reverberated through her, down to the thin soles of her slippers. "You think you’re different," he said. She felt his hands tighten around hers, gripping hard, too hard. A streak of violet lightning split the sky, striking close behind them. The house, Isobel thought. It had been struck. She could hear it cracking apart. She looked for only a brief moment, long enough to watch it split open. "But you’re not," Varen said, calling her attention back to him. Isobel winced, her own hands surrendering under the suddenly crushing pressure of his hold. A face she did not recognize stared down at her, one twisted with anger — with hate. "You," he scarcely more than breathed, "are just like every. Body. Else." He moved so fast. Before she could register his words or the fact that she had once spoken them to him herself, he jerked her to one side. Isobel felt her feet part from the rocks. Weightlessness took hold of her as she swung out and over the ledge of the cliff. As he let her go. The wind whistled its high and lonely song in her ears. She fell away into the oblivion of the storm until she could no longer see the cliff — could no longer see him. Only the slip of the pink ribbon as it unraveled from her wrist, floating up and away from her and out of sight forever.

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    Shut up and do not think. All the theorists agree: shut up and keep the words from being said. And all of the scars will remain invisible; and all of the scars will remain under the skin. Where they belong.

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    So be careful when you bend over.

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    Someone experiencing the stages of grief is rarely aware of how his behavior might appear to others. Grief often produces a “zoom lens effect,” in which the focus is entirely on oneself, to the exclusion of external considerations.

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    Someday we'll meet again and when we do, I hope that at that point in time, I'll be enough for you.

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    Someone who doesn’t know if tomorrow will come would rather live every day twice than live it once.

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    Some people's glasses are half full. I'm the one drinking them. Some people have forgotten that Pluto is still a planet. I still remember my childhood. Some people are vegans. I have common sense. Some people call me Maurice. Some people call me the Gangsta of Love. Some people just want to live...but me, I'm the one still alive.

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    Some are born rich While others poor; Some are born free While others captives; Some are born blessed While others deprived; Some are born strong While others weak; And some are born great While others slaves. It is only in this life blessings are unequal.

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    Someone must have talked plenty, because on an afternoon in June 2008, Sarvannantha Pereira was detained by men who didn't say who whey were. They would call it an arrest. It felt more like an abduction.

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    Something has gotten into me; something I didn’t want. The moment my skin touched hers, it overwhelmed me with desires of the deepest kind. It’s crawled beneath my flesh, and my every pore is infected by her. An addiction that is as frustrating as this illness.

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    Someone is going to tell you to get use to this. That feeling of being scared and sad. They're going to say it'll be better when you learn to ignore it. Don't listen to them. Hold on to it, remember it... Don't let yourself forget it. It's too easy to lose. -Carl Grimes

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    Something very beautiful happens to people when their world has fallen apart: a humility, a nobility, a higher intelligence emerges at just the point when our knees hit the floor. Perhaps, in a way, that's where humanity is now: about to discover we're not as smart as we thought we were, will be forced by life to surrender our attacks and defenses which avail us of nothing, and finally break through into the collective beauty of who we really are." [Facebook post, August 31, 2013]