Best 2955 quotes in «sadness quotes» category

I always wanted to be a sad white girl. I wanted to be sad like Lana Del Rey. I wanted a sadness so universal, it'd move everyone to tears. A sadness everyone could related to. "I want a summertime, summertime sadness". My sadness is about domestic violence, homelessness, gender dysphoria, intergenerational trauma passed down from Salvdorean Civil War, etc, etc. My sadness is something to observe, consume, sympathize, but NOT EMPATHAZE WITH (not to mobilize for). Most people do not know how to interact with my sadness. My sadness is so multifaceted, it speaks twenty languages.

I AM A FATHERLESS FATHER FOR MINE IS GONE,HIS DEATH A MYSTERY, HE IS HISTORY, AND THAT IS WHY I LOOK ONLY UPON YOU FOR YOUR JUST GUIDANCE MY FAITHFUL GOD.

I am afraid because I can so clearly foresee my own life rotting away of itself, like a leaf that rots without falling, while I pursue my round of existence from day to day.

I am Broken single mother Disconnected lover Slow motion dresser Dark secret confessor White flag trend Professional dead end

I am drowning in negativism, self-hate, doubt, madness - and even I am not strong enough to deny the routine, the rote, to simplify. No, I go plodding on, afraid that the blank hell in back of my eyes will break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence; afraid that the disease which eats away the pith of my body with merciless impersonality will break forth in obvious sores and warts, screaming "Traitor, sinner, imposter.

I am floating, I thought, completely without anchor, at the mercy of the wind.

I am in Love with you, it’s me who is in love with you not you, I am in love with you. Not in a way I wanted to but yeah the way I am fond to Hey I am in love with you, not treating you like I wanted to but just being the one that thought of to yeah I am in love with you, Loving you was the secrete I wanted to keep and buried deep inside my emotional heap, Doing everything possible what I had to But baby it hurts as it hurts you too, but yeah still I am in love with you, Pulled myself million times because I got the wrong vibes all the time, But the truth remains the same baby hear me as I am in love with you, Waiting on you I could see people were laughing on me I knew all the while you weren't near me. But you should know that I am in love with you There were some days I missed you a lot and scared to tell you how i feel cold and hot for you as I am in love with you is the only dream And then I am in love with you I remember I have cried to sleep and bagged myself to keep you away from the highest steep the voice that said from within me I am in love with you Just I LOVE YOU was the only words I wanna hear from you even while knowing, you don’t mean to Because simply I feel the way I wanted to Loving to say I am in love with you. wake up in the morning with only you in my mind till I sleep at deep way in the night I know its all silly things for your kind but its perfect to me as clearly - deeply in love with you When you being nice to me that scares me sometimes but bottom in my heart it feels so nice because during that time I am in love with you, Doesn't matter whatever I do with you even things i have never done before and i enjoyed them all because simply as I am in love with you. In the first waiting on you was the favorite thing in my day weather it s a call or just a look from you from the farthest bay I asked myself why and the voice within me said that I am in love with you.

I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can’t find the right words. All I can say is: Stay with me, don’t leave me.

I am not angry, I am not sad, I have no questions, I need no answers, For, I am numb. I can’t cry, I can’t smile, I can’t laugh, I can’t giggle, For, I feel numb. I don’t argue, I don’t think, I don’t talk, I can’t fight, For, I feel numb and Somehow, I just know Being ‘numb’ is worse Than anything else!

I am no pessimist. Happy are those who can make of their suffering something universal. I don’t know if the world is sad or bad, nor do I care, because I feel bored and indifferent in the face of other people’s suffering. As long as they don’t cry or moan — which I find irritating and embarrassing —I greet their suffering with a shrug of the shoulders, so deep is my disdain for them.

I am not, anymore, a Christian, but I am lifted and opened by any space with prayer inside it. I didn’t know why I was going, today, to stand in the long cool darkness of St. John of the Divine, but my body knew, as bodies do, what it wanted. I entered the oddly small door of the huge space, and walked without hesitating to the altar I hadn’t consciously remembered, a national memorial for those who died of AIDS, marked by banners and placards. My heart melted, all at once, and I understood why I was there. Because the black current the masseuse had touched wanted, needed, to keep flowing. I’d needed to know I could go on, but I’d also been needing to collapse. Which is what I did, some timeless tear span of minutes sitting on the naked gray stone. A woman gave me the kind of paper napkins you get with an ice cream cone. It seemed to me the most genuine of gifts, made to a stranger: the recognition of how grief moves in the body, leaving us unable to breathe, helpless, except for each other.

I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others—the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.

I am not sad because I do not have you, I am sad because I don't have love.

I am sad because I love you, because I love you so much, and because I am not a bee to buzz with you lightly. I am not a flower, not a tree, not a rain-hewn stone. I am not a storm or a cresting wave, not a thorn or a vine. I am not the sun stinging the water, not the moon on the snow. I am not a star in the dark. I am not the dew-wet wind, not the cloud-stained dawn. I am only a girl, a small, plain girl, a girl who must smear her lips in honey to be found sweet.

I am poppies in the field Red and cold I am sleeping alone and I am light I am light I am light

I am so angry with myself because I cannot do what I should like to do, and at such a moment one feels as if one were lying bound hand and foot at the bottom of a deep dark well, utterly helpless.

I am sorry that I am alive to feel this misery and horror.

I am so sad. I am so sad it makes me heavier than the sum of my parts. I shift, restless, but it doesn’t help. It’s like—time. All this time in here is on me, has its hooks in me. Maybe if I sleep more, I’ll wake up and I’ll feel different, but I can’t. The storm is really happening now and it makes the room feel emptier. Makes me feel emptier.

I am so happy that I made someone cry today - don't worry I'm a writer. It's when they make me cry that it's a problem.

i am thankful for sadness.

I am touched by her life, how it moves forward, pulses and springs. There is no fragmentation, nothing stunted or wedged. I circle back, I regress, the past doesn't let go. It might as well be a malfunction, a scene repeating itself, a scratched vinl record, a stutter.

I am the most important person to me. I am the most important person in the entire universe to me. I am the centre of my own universe.

I am very familiar with the sound of loss.

I am the shade. Through the dolent city, i flee. Through the eternal woe, i take flight..

I believe that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension that we find paralyzing because we no longer hear our surprised feelings living. Because we are alone with the alien thing that has entered into our self; because everything intimate and accustomed is for an instant taken away; because we stand in the middle of a transition where we cannot remain standing. For this reason the sadness too passes: the new thing in us, the added thing, has entered into our heart, has gone into its inmost chamber and is not even there any more, — is already in our blood. And we do not learn what it was. We could easily be made to believe that nothing has happened, and yet we have changed, as a house changes into which a guest has entered.

I believe the reason why people are so sad, is because we live in a world constantly telling us that we have a million options: a millions options of shoes, soda, burgers, television shows, friends, lovers... we are all filled with empty air! Why? Because options are things that float around in the air but we don't really have them. They're not ours, and we don't really want them, anyway! A million options of lovers and most people don't even have one person to hold at night! That is how empty we all are.

I believe that in a way, sadness is happiness for there can be no wrong without right, no light without dark, no success without failure, no relief without pain, no love without hatred and no Snow White without the evil queen.

I believe that sometimes, the moment you say goodbye could be as painful as a lifetime worth of pain that you can experience while living with the memories of your loved ones. I couldn’t stop myself from hallucinating about all those things that could have happened, while you were walking away from me today. I stopped walking and turned my head, expecting for you to do the same. I stayed there, motionless, and waited – for you to turn once, to smile, or wave. But you didn’t. You just continued walking away from me, while I stayed there watching your silhouette becoming smaller, and smaller with time, until it disappeared completely. There was nothing else to wait. “What happened?” she asked me when I turned my head again towards the platform. “She let me go, finally,” was all I could say.

I breathe therefore I write…

'Better to have loved and lost,' my ass. Anyone parroting that little platitude had obviously never lost anyone of consequence.

I blinked. Because even though my dad never, ever complained about being a young dad, I always wondered about his regrets. How his need to keep abandoned, sad things might apply to me, too.

I bought this place for a pittance, because it was a dump. Rejected, abandoned, unwanted. Like me. I fixed it up. Made it mine.

I can hear my mom. I can hear her take a deep breath. I hear her pushing words out, and I can almost see her, for a second, the look on her face, her hand pressed to her own heart, the other in a fist. "You can go if you have to go," my mom says, and her voice shakes, but she's solid. She says it again, so I'll know. "You can go if you have to go, okay, baby? Don't wait for me. I love you, you're mine, you'll always be mine, and this is going to be okay, you're safe, baby, you're safe-" ...And after that? There's nothing.

I can't wait until they don't have me here anymore.

I CAN'T GO ON! I FEEL LIKE NONE OF MY EMOTIONAL WOUNDS CAN HEAL! AS SOON AS IT TRIES TO HEAL, IT SHATTERS AGAIN! I CAN'T HEAL!

I can’t look people in the eye and tell them that they’re going to die anymore.

I can't take it anymore, I can't put up with this suffering I neither understand nor know when it will end.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars, and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights like this, I held her in my arms. I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her. How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. To hear the immense night, more immense without her. And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her. The night is full of stars and she is not with me. That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away. My soul is lost without her. As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her. My heart searches for her and she is not with me. The same night that whitens the same trees. We, we who were, we are the same no longer. I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her. My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once belonged to my kisses. Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her. Love is so short and oblivion so long. Because on nights like this I held her in my arms, my soul is lost without her. Although this may be the last pain she causes me, and this may be the last poem I write for her.

I can feel it, Annie whispered. The air is heavy with ghosts. The birds sing only sad songs. The ground swallowed many tears.

I can tell you that it's okay to feel whatever it is you're feeling right now. It's okay to miss him and it's okay to hurt and it's okay to feel lost-just as long as you come to me, or your friends, or your family, when all those feelings try to overwhelm you. Because in amongst all those feelings, some of you are going to be angry, and some of you will need someone to blame. It's okay to be angry. I can't tell you if it's right or wrong to feel blame, but what I can say is don't be angry for too long and don't hold on to the blame forever. That kind of anger can take away a piece of you, a piece of you that you might not get back.

I can’t sleep alone anymore and I get used to company too quickly. You’re always gone too soon.

I can’t translate myself into language any more.

Ice upon ice, and yet, inside, she melted and mourned all the same.

I can't stand it any longer. If only I could will myself dead.

I close my eyes and press my face into his shirt and howl against him, liquid agony pouring from me. He smooths my hair from my face and continues to murmur, but he never shushes me, never tells me to stop. Never tells me it'll be all right. He knows life too well to believe such lies.

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

I couldn't keep doing this to myself. One day, I was going to wake up and realize that, in my desperate escape from the pain in the present, I'd let the future pass me by.

I’d felt this before, when my granddad was in the hospital before he died. We all camped out in the waiting room, eating our meals together, most of us sleeping in the chairs every night. Family from far-flung places would arrive at odd hours and we’d all stand and stretch, hug, get reacquainted, and pass the babies around. A faint, pale stream of beauty and joy flowed through the heavy sludge of fear and grief. It was kind of like those puddles of oil you see in parking lots that look ugly until the sun hits them and you see rainbows pulling together in the middle of the mess. And wasn’t that just how life usually felt—a confusing swirl of ugly and rainbow?

I did not willingly let half of my soul leave my body. It was torn from me. I still hear the ransomed moans. It calls to me for rescue, yet clings to its abductor.

I didn’t love until rejection which said nothing about him, but everything about me.