Best 2955 quotes in «sadness quotes» category

We may never be able to forget what has happened. We may harbor the sadness from it in our hearts forever. The former of these is unavoidable.

We met in a school elevator, and he could tell from the way I spoke that we had some sadness in common.

We never regret the love we give, We regret giving it to the wrong people …

We only have one life and two choices: sadness and regret for a past we cannot change or happiness for every moment we can choose how to live.

We’re all just passing ships; no point forming friendships that won’t last.

We recognize that you've used substances to try to regain your lost balance, to try to feel the way you did before the need arose to use addictive drugs or alcohol. We know that you use substances to alter your mood, to cover up your sadness, to ease your heartbreak, to lighten your stress load, to blur your painful memories, to escape your hurtful reality, or to make your unbearable days or nights bearable.

We seek out other people to fight off the loneliness but it's like we're children playing at pretend. We are alone in everything we do, Livy. Alone but not without company.

We should be sure that in our pursuit of happiness and positivity, we do not lose our ability to experience the other side of life, as well. Feelings of grief and respect for the departed, are honourable thoughts to have and honourable feelings to feel. In seeking happiness, we must not be so afraid of sorrow, that we lose the ability to cope with it properly. There is a healthy way to cope with both sorrow and joy; both need to be looked straight in the face, in the eyes.

We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead, Full of the grateful peace That follows her release; For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.

We've got this idea that there are only two options in grief: you're either going to be stuck in your pain, doomed to spend the rest of your life rocking in a corner in your basement wearing sackcloth, or you're going to triumph over grief, be transformed, and come back even better than you were before. Just two options. On, off. Eternally broken or completely healed. It doesn't seem to matter that nothing else in life is like that. Somehow when it comes to grief, the entire breadth of human experience goes out the window.

We weep, tears of blood, we weep, In despair, crying, we weep; the sun forever has stolen the light from his eyes. No more his face do we see, no more his voice do we hear, nor will his affectionate gaze watch over his people.

we whisper songs about scars trepidation before letting go.

We were like velcro with all the noise it makes when you take the two pieces apart, hugging like staples, we went until there, this time for good it’s over.

We weren't so different, Finn and I. Cages come in lots of colors and shapes. Some are gilded, while others have a slamming door. But golden handcuffs are still handcuffs.

We weren’t that different after all, our souls laden with the same ache of loss, our hearts bursting with the same longing to save what remained of all we loved.

What a little vessel of sadness we are, sailing in this muffled silence through the autumn dark.

What a sad thing I thought -- to live in a world so concerned with the lives of others, we forget to live our own.

What a wonderful sadness to miss the one you have loved forever, it seems, and know that she is waiting at home.

What bothered me the most was the hesitation in his voice when he said that— like he was running out of time.

What can't you bear?' 'This island,' Gabe says. He breathes a long pause between every word he says. 'That house you and Finn are in. People talking. The fish - goddamn fish. I'll smell like them for the rest of my life. The horses. Everything. I can't do it any more.' . . . It feels like he's confessed that he's dying of a disease I've never heard of, with symptoms I can't see.

What can you do when you're condemned to a place where every choice seems wrong - even the one you promised your lover you'd make?

What does life give me in the end but sorrow? What do love's good and evil send but sorrow? I've only seen one true companion - pain, And I have known no faithful friend but sorrow.

Whatever awful things you go through, however miserable you feel, those feelings will pass. But don't think for one second you can't show them now anyway. Who does it help keeping them in?

What else has kept any of us going, but love of someone or the memory of that love?

What good is a story that doesn't break your heart?

What if we were wrong and chased happiness only to find sadness in quest. Maybe it was sadness that had all the comfort in the world.

What good is a song that doesn't break your heart?

What i'm trying to say is this. A certain kind of shittiness, a certain kind of stagnation, a certain kind of darkness, goes on propogating itself by its own power in its own self-contained cycle. And once it passes a certain point, no one can stop it - even if the person himself wants to stop it.

What God knows about me is more important than what others think about me.

What if you are just destined to get hurt, to be helplessly stuck in a point of time you no longer want to be? Maybe life is all about trying to get up while you fall a little bit deeper in the pits of hell, each time you try not to...

What is happiness? What is a good life? Is it a life without suffering? Something like that doesn't exist... Life is filled with suffering and sorrow. So it's no wonder that to those who fear suffering, the world seems like a living hell! And still...those who bravely keep going and try to push through this hell... They'll find that it's only a small stretch of the road to happiness. The truly great are those who never lose hope, even when thrown into hell... And as long as we have faith in ourselves, even hell itself can be a paradise!

What is it about crying? As if my body believes that squeezing all its salt out might somehow quell the sadness. As if sadness is a parasite which suckles on sodium chloride.

What is left after war is silence: The silence of the death; the silence of the debris; the silence of the birds! After war even the screams of sadness are silent because the pain is in the very depths of the soul!

What I want to know is how you go on when you look around and don’t see anywhere you want to go without the only person you can’t have.

What is it that drew us to the hollow tonight? What crazy kind of species is it that leaves a warm home on a rainy night to ferry salamanders across a road? It's tempting to call it altruism, but it's not. There is nothing selfless about it. This night heaps rewards on the givers as well as the recipients. We get to be there, to witness this amazing rite, and, for an evening, to enter into relationship with other beings, as different from ourselves as we can imagine. It has been said that people of the modern world suffer a great sadness, a "species loneliness" - estrangement from the rest of Creation. We have built this isolation with our fear, with our arrogance, and with our homes brightly lit against the night. For a moment as we walked this road, those barriers dissolved and we began to relieve the loneliness and know each other once again.

What is it about me that gets them all crying? It’s not the end of the world.

What made the difference between choosing to die and deciding to live? Was it the weight of sadness that buckled them over and dragged them away from all sane, rational thoughts with an anchor of hopelessness so intense they just gave up fighting?

What was rage but a cover for some secret fragility, some sorrow?

What she had shared with Akiva could not be touched by shame. Madrigal lifted her voice to say, "We dreamed together of the world remade.

What’s to become of us? We can’t go on like this.” “Yes, we can go on like this,” said Cesare. “We can go on exactly like this for the rest of our lives.

What we need to remember -- as a working practice -- is to honor all griefs. Honor all losses, small and not small. Life changing and moment changing. And then, not to compare them. That all people experience pain is not medicine for anything.

When a person dies, he disappears, along with his past, current lifestyle, and his future. Many people die in missions and wars. They die easily and in surprisingly simple ways. Hayate was one of them. Those who died had hopes and dreams, but everyone has something as important as those: parents, siblings, friends, lovers; people who are important to you, they trust and help each other. The bond between the people important to you ever since birth and the string that binds them becomes thicker and stronger as time goes by... It's beyond reason. Those bound to you by that string will do that because it is important.

When a human being is born the first thing he does is crying.. The rest of his life he'll spend discovering why...

When by my solitary hearth I sit, When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

When Cash woke up, he knew immediately something was wrong. Even without looking, he knew; Harper was gone, and the space she’d left in the bed ached like a missing limb.

Whenever I feel sad, I just take out my phone and listen to her laughter recorded in my online messenger.

When blackened night falls, darkness exists if one chooses to rely on sight as thy only guide.

When everything seems to be going wrong with you, you must remember the airplane takes off against the wind

When God Created Mothers" When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said. "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one." And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands." The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way." It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have." That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded. One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word." God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...." I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger...and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower." The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed. But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure." Can it think?" Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator. Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model." It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear." What's it for?" It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride." You are a genius, " said the angel. Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.

When he came home early, he was dreary. There, he'd sit by the fireplace, his worn hands gripping the newspaper a bit too tight, his eyes held to it, unseeing, towards the words, the meaningless grouping of letters on that newspaper. The fire would cackle, sizzle, full of life, so opposite to this man, whose face was crossed with the burdens of the world, and lips pressed thing under that bushy mustache. His grief sat on him like a cloud, sending him into a dimension that left his eyes two empty coals, his chest an impossible storm. He spoke to no one, and hardly did anyone speak to him, because words were never something he was good at. Then, when the sky darkened, he's stand, and trudge to his room, where his bed waited, cold and hungry, just as he'd always known it to be.