Best 2955 quotes in «sadness quotes» category

Oh! To live alone, always alone, in the midst of the crowd that surrounds me, without a word of love ever coming to gladden my soul, without a friendly hand reaching out to me!

Olga was nice, Olga was nice and loving, Olga loved him, he repeated to himself with a growing sadness as he also realised that nothing would ever happen between them again, life sometimes offers you a chance he thought, but when you are too cowardly or too indecisive to seize it life takes the cards away; there is a moment for doing things and entering a possible happiness, and this moment lasts a few days, a few weeks or even a few months, but it only happens once and one time only, and if you want to return to it later it's quite simply impossible. There's no more place for enthusiasm, belief and faith, and there remains just gentle resignation, a sad and reciprocal pity, the useless but correct sensation that something could have happened, that you just simply showed yourself unworthy of this gift you had been offered.

Omenirea se apropie de bătrînețe și am ajuns să ne placă tristețea, asemeni unui prieten care a stat foarte mult lîngă noi, în tinerețe, pe cînd eram viguroși și veseli. Ca și marinarii lui Ulysses primeam bucuroși și soarele și tunetul. Sînge roșu curgea în vinele noastre și rîdeam, iar poveștile pe care ni le spuneam erau străbătute de vigoare și speranță. Acum stăm ca bătrînii urmărind cu ochii în flăcări chipurile oamenilor; iar povestirile care ne plac sînt triste, ca poveștile pe care le-am trăit noi înșine.

Once I was everything, now I'm nothing. You won't only doubt yourself, you doubt life.

Once a thing is removed from your heart, a trace of it still remains.

Once upon a time, there was a naïve and innocent girl who thought she could tame the beast and live happily ever after. But the beast did not want to be tamed, for he was a beast and beasts care not for such things, and the girl died along with her dreams. From childhood's grave sprang a young woman, jaded before her years, who knew that beasts could wear the skins of men, and that evil could exist in sunlight, as well as darkness. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Once upon a time, you were everything to me..and I was everything to you.

Once you start down the slippery slope of depression, it's hard to climb off of it. And sometimes you don't want to climb off of it.

One always has to wait until the sugar melts, the memory dies, the wound scars over, the sun sets, the unhappiness lifts and fades away.

One by one, the thoughts and memories of sadness raised their hands, stood up to identify themselves. I looked at each thought, at each unit of sorrow, and I acknowledged its existence and felt (without trying to protect myself from it) its horrible pain. And then I would tell that sorrow, "It's OK. I love you. I accept you. Come into my heart now. It's over."...

On dirait que les projets de joie sont un défi.Trop longuement préparés,ils laissent le temps à la detinée de changer les oeufs dans le nid,et ce sont les chagrins qui nous faudra couver.

One caress and he left me feeling empty, one more time.

One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, "We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I'll make one. I'll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was; I'll make a voice that is like an empty bed beside you all night long, and like an empty house when you open the door, and like trees in autumn with no leaves. A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. I'll make a sound that's so alone that no one can miss it, that whoever hears it will weep in their souls, and hearths will seem warmer, and being inside will seem better to all who hear it in the distant towns. I'll make me a sound and an apparatus and they'll call it a Fog Horn and whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life." The Fog Horn blew.

One day when I ventured into the garden to regard its bloom, My eyes beheld on a bower a withered rose. When I inquired what had caused the blight, "My lips for a moment opened in a smile in this garden," it replied.

One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!" And a little later you added: "You know-- one loves the sunet, when one is so sad..." "Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?" But the little prince made no reply.

One day you look in the mirror and you see your parents' sadness in your eyes.

One must be honest with himself. Then it will be much better than it is now.

One need not know one's karma, but have faith in life to be able to keep on going. With faith one can let go and let things take its course, embrace life and merge with it. Because she is the way.

One of the greatest acts of service you can do is to find someone who is secretly lonely and be a friend to them, if only for a day.

One of the motivation behind why you age faster is on account of you stress over SHIT that doesn't concern you.

One way or another, we’re all prisoners.

One weekend it rained for 48 hours without stopping. The rain beat like bony fingers against the window panes. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Fungus was growing on the walls. I polished off a bottle of gin sitting huddled over the two-bar electric fire and wrote a poem, one of the few that has lasted through the moves and the years. It is called 'Where Can I Go?' If this is not the place where tears are understood where do I go to cry? If this is not the place where my spirits can take wing where do I go to fly? If this is not the place where my feelings can be heard where do I go to speak? If this is not the place where you’ll accept me as I am where can I go to be me? If this is not the place where I can try and learn and grow where can I go to laugh and cry?

On her own, Grace could be effervescent, illuminating the entire room with her intelligence and wit. Around others she seemed to lose her luster.

Only that once again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.

Only Certain offered no enticements, for she knew nothing could ease the pain. Not books or photography or food. Not even love.

Only strong people can find happiness from the sadness surrounding them.

Only now, standing with him, I realized it wouldn’t be enough. It would only hurt more now, knowing exactly what I could never have again. I would never make love with Seth again, never have these intimate moments of comfort and rapport. He wasn’t mine anymore. He never could be again.

Only tears can hear the sound of pain when warm blood reddens discolored stain

Or is what remains in me like a defeated army, Fleeing in disarray from victory already won?

[…] on questioning why she looked so sad, she would remark, 'My life has been full of terrible misfortunes, most of which never happened.' 'That's Montaigne, isn't it?' And she would give the tiniest nod. 'I quote others only in order the better to express myself,' she'd say, which was itself, I sensed, another quote.

Or is it the case that no one gets over anything? Is there really that much pain and suffering continuing right now at this minute, in millions of hearts, in bodies carrying on the burden of existence, trying to smile through tears for fleeting, passing moments here and there-when they can forget what happened to them, maybe even for whole hours at a time? Maybe that's what it is to live.

On that search for happiness we did nothing with all those other emotions that made us human.

Our life is not short; the only thing that is short is our stay.

Our life is not in stuff, focus your attention on Christ where it should be. Prosperity and wealth has damaged the body of Christ. God takes pleasure in the prosperity of his children but don't replace him with material.

Our parting was like a stalemate…. Neither of us won. Yet both of us lost. And worse still … that unshakable feeling that nothing was ever really finished.

Out of the seven billion people sharing the planet with her, not one of them knew what was going through her head. Not one of them knew she was lost. Not one of them asked.

Outside it was dark, but not as dark as it was inside of me.

-Ouve esta música? É a expressão da minha vida: uma partitura admirável, estragada por um horrível, por um infame executante...

Out of the starless night that covers me, (O tribulation of the wind that rolls!) Black as the cloud of some tremendous spell, The susurration of the sighing sea Sounds like the sobbing whisper of two souls That tremble in a passion of farewell. To the desires that trebled life in me, (O melancholy of the wind that rolls!) The dreams that seemed the future to foretell, The hopes that mounted herward like the sea, To all the sweet things sent on happy souls, I cannot choose but bid a mute farewell. And to the girl who was so much to me (O lamentation of this wind that rolls!) Since I may not the life of her compel, Out of the night, beside the sounding sea, Full of the love that might have blent our souls, A sad, a last, a long, supreme farewell.

Pain can mask itself as a righteous companion; silently forming a barrier between you & all that is good for you. Identify Pain. Now thank Pain for showing you that all of your senses & emotions are working as you send him on his way. Traveling with pain can slow you down & limit the distance you travel.

pain demands to be felt..

Pain, like a pinecone unfolding, seemed to blossom beneath her breastbone.

Pain whispers through silent words entombed in scars shyly palpable in fleeting glimpses briefly allowed

Pain pumps blood when heart dies

— Para você — Gisa diz, estendendo a mão boa, de onde pende um retalho de seda preta. O tecido é frio e escorregadio. — De antes. Flores vermelhas e douradas enfeitam o pano, bordadas com uma habilidade de mestre. — Eu lembro — murmuro, correndo o dedo sobre a perfeição impossível. Ela bordou isto há muito tempo, uma noite antes de o agente quebrar sua mão. Está inacabado, assim como o antigo destino dela. Assim como Shade. Trêmula, amarro o tecido no punho. — Obrigada, Gisa. — Enfio a mão no bolso e digo: — Também tenho uma coisa para você, minha garota. Uma bijuteria barata. O brinco solitário combina com o mar de inverno ao nosso redor. Ela perde o fôlego ao segurá-lo. As lágrimas logo vêm, mas não posso vê-las

Para mim, o mundo é apenas o mundo, Graciano: um palco em que todos nós representamos um papel, sendo o meu triste.

Paige had a sadness that was so desperate that it could not yet turn into anger.

Paint the stars and the moon back into my night sky and tell me it is okay to cry without asking why.

Pain is transitory despite its depths. Hate eventually eats itself into a hollow void. Sadness can last only as long as life itself. But love, love extends beyound reason and time. -- Excerpt from the Lost Chapters of the Ecliptic Scrolls

Part of the forces that sent Sam trudging across the white prairies was love of life, a gladness for health and youth that filled him as Mozart's gayest music filled him; and part of it was his belief that the earth on which he walked had been designed by the greatest of artists, and that is a man had the courage and fortitude not to fail it, it would not fail him. In Sam's rough mountain-man philosophy those persons who became the wards of sadness and melancholy had never summoned for use and trial more than a part of what they had in them, and so had failed themselves and their Creator. If it was a part of the inscrutable plan that he was to live through this ordeal, and again cover the bones of wife and child with mountain lilies, the strength was lying in him, waiting, and he had only to call on it- all of it- and use it, without flinching or whimpering. If he showed himself to be a worthy piece in the Great Architect's edifice he would live; in Sam's philosophy that was about all there was to it.