Best 2955 quotes in «sadness quotes» category

It wasn't the aloneness that Liz minded. It was the silence. It echoed.

It wasn't a rock. It was a dog's rubber bone, left behind months ago to be buried first under autumn leaves, then winter snow. Just an old rubber bone, but Batty was already braced for what she knew would come—the rushing in her ears, the stab in her stomach, and the seeping away of the colors from her world. The soft blue spring sky, the yellow forsythia hedge, even Ben's bright red hair—all dulled, all gray and wretched.

It was quite a sad thing, the way I watched you sleep like nothing could go wrong and I did not want to harm it, I did not want to blur it, but how could I not when everything I’ve ever known has slowly gone away.

It was such a relief to be able to sob and have someone know all the reasons why.

It was really hard to stay positive. And that's normally a talent of mine.

It was only in the middle—between the immense and the minute—that sadness seemed to exist.

It was the ghetto. I had seen them before from the high altitude of one who could look down and pity. Now I belonged here and the view was different. A first glance told it all. Here it was pennies and clutter and spittle on the curb... Here was the indefinable stink of despair. Here modesty was the luxury. People struggled for it... Here sensuality was escape, proof of manhood for people who could prove it no other way... Here hips drew the eye and flirted with the eye and caused the eye to lust or laugh. It was better to look at hips than at the ghetto.

It was thrilling, erotic, most beautiful, especially to see a man of mature years in such a vulnerable position as to be taunted to tears by one he loves, a mere youngster.

It...whatever 'it' is, has swallowed me and I lie here in the pit of its cold dark stomach being eaten alive by its bile and I...I don't even know if I want to be saved.

I used to love September, but now it just rhymes with remember.

i used to think i was broken because i never once spent my daydreams plucking swollen pomegranates from someone else's tree. - then i learned that society is broken, not me.

I value individuals and societies. I care about those who are not born yet. That is the reason for my joys and blues.

I've been made a fool before. I'm not interested in going there again. I can't sustain anymore hurt. It'll break me.

I've always felt we're supposed to be sad as often as we’re happy. Without being forlorn, happiness has no value. I believe out there, whatever or whoever is responsible for the universe has simply made us start at the beginning before more is revealed to us. I don’t believe in a perfect existence. If it were around, we would know about it already. Erase pain and suffering and erase life. We’re being prepared for the next chapter. Being subjected to what’s considered the ultimate state of mind in the universe comes with a price-tag. What steps were at now I have no idea. But I'm excited to get to the end someday. Maybe I’ll come find you and we can swap stories sometime? Until then I value my sadness as much as my happiness. A sadness we all share.

I’ve burned the bridges and built many walls instead …

I’ve created the most beautiful things out of my sadness.

I’ve never been to a funeral until today. I see dazzling arrangements of red, yellow, and purple flowers with long, green stems. I see a stained-glass window with a white dove, a yellow sun, a blue sky. I see a gold cross, standing tall, shiny, brilliant. And I see black. Black dresses. Black pants. Black shoes. Black bibles. Black is my favorite color. Jackson asked me about it one time. “Ava, why don’t you like pink? Or yellow? Or blue?” ”I love black,” I said. ”It suits me.” ”I suit you,” he said. I’m not so sure I love black anymore. And then, beyond the flowers, beneath the stained-glass window, beside the cross, I see the white casket. I see red, burning love disappear forever. As we pull away, my eyes stay glued to the casket. It’s proof that sometimes life does not go on. I look around. If tears could bring him back, there’d be enough to bring him back a hundred times. That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, I hate good-byes. It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette, and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta. Alone, we were good. Together, we were fantastic. Memories might keep him alive. But they might kill me.

I've never been the most important person to anybody - not even myself.

I've never been the most important thing to anybody - not even myself.

I've never felt stronger than when I was packing up my room at Richard's place. [...] I've also never felt sadder. Sad but strong. You can be both. And I am.

I’ve seen people die. Die hard. Die messy. Job like mine, you live with the reaper every day. But i’d youre unlucky, it’s not that bullets that kill you in this gig. It’s moments like these. Killing you one piece at a time. It’s not the bullets that kill you. It’s moments like these. One piece at a time. I’d prefer a thousand bullets to a moment like this.

I’ve reached the vanishing point without you. Here my heartache begins with your pain trying to find an unborn start in this fatal disappearance From the poem ‘Me with the Vanishing Point

I walk these lonely streets at dark. Just me and the night; crowded head, empty heart.

I wanted desperately to be part of our pack; I felt a hole inside myself where my pack should have been.

I wanted love to conquer all. But love can't conquer anything.

I wanted to say all these things about how you just have to hold on to the things you love and let go of all the rest.

I wanted to keep looking at her because I wanted to never take my eyes from her, but still I had to lower my eyes, I was so ashamed that even now Jenny was reading my mind so perfectly. 'Listen, that's the only goddamn thing I'm asking, Ollie. Otherwise, I know you'll be okay.' That thing in my gut was stirring again, so I was afraid to even speak the word 'okay.' I just looked mutely at Jenny.

I wanted the world to sit back and listen up, and let me explain to it that when someone is sad and hopeless, the last thing they need to feel is that they are the only ones in the world with that feeling. So, if you feel sorry for someone, don’t pretend to be happy. Don’t pretend to care only about their problems. People aren’t stupid. Not all of us, anyway.

I wanted to cry so bad, but my tears are inside. A blindfold keeps them there. I can’t see today. Patti, I don’t know anything.

I wanted to go to him to save me, but he was the one who broke me this time.

I wanted to tell her not to entertain despair like this. Despair wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favourite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy.

I wanted to putt my hand on this hand and hold it still under mine, made still by his made still. Oh he was bright and I was dark and I gave him all my darkness on that ship; but we joined, for all good things in the world, and to find somethin together; and loved, I never knew I could do it and was afraid; and on the bow of the ship that night that he said, "What have we done Christy?" I said, wonderin too, "But somethin good will come of this, I know somethin good will come of this..." Only sorrow came.

I want my life back. -Dear Blue Sky

I want to die because I love you. I don't want to die because I love you.

I want to belong. Belonging makes things okay, and I want to be okay. I just want to be okay.

I want to drown in my tears, And my tears are my prayers.

I want to re-start my life,

I want to write more but I cannot. I am a little weary and the silence in my soul is black. I wish I could rest my head on your shoulder.

i was a prisoner of events

I want you to look at me the way I look at the ceiling in the night. The way three am knows my name.

I was a flower that bloomed and sparked way too fast. He took me in ’cause I was pretty in all kinds of colors but way too soon I stood on his table sad and dried up. I forgot to nourish myself and the sun never shone from my sky.

I was desperate to discover what nothing felt like. It was the absence of something that attracted me. It was the start. Everything important originated with nothingness.

I was always asking myself why. Why am I feeling this? Thinking that if I knew the cause I could find the cure. But of course there was no reasonable why, at least not in the present. I was awash in an accumulation of past feelings and future dreads, all similar, at least as far as my brain was concerned, and so, lumped together as one. But nobody can handle a lifetime of experience in one moment. That's why depression crushes you.

I was never ready and could you see it in the way time collapsed in my syntax? Because melancholia is the inability to sequentialize.

I wasn’t built for this,” he yelled. “Look at me. You know it’s true.” And for the first time, maybe ever, he didn’t sound cool. He sounded a little panicked. And a little angry. “I don’t want to love someone so much that they take up all my head, all my space. If I knew I was going to feel this way about you, I would have left a long time ago, while I still could.

I was not looking for HIM, he was just always there, the little BOY! I have not seen HIM, because I did not want to see, but HE was standing next to my bed every night, the little BOY! I have not heard their cry because I have forbidden HIM there to cry. But one day, when I woke up, did I knew seen, so sad and lonely! I wanted to tell HIM that it's all going to be good. But I could not because I knew that it is not so! And we both cried, I and the LITTLE BOY IN ME!

I was so sad that day. My heart was trying to climb from my body.

I was sprawled out in my usual position on the couch, half asleep but entirely drunk, torturing myself by tearing memories out of my mind at random like matches from a book, striking them one at a time and drowsily setting myself on fire.

I was starting to learn how to forget the things that made me sad. It was like a charm you followed step-by-step, collecting and blending the ingredients, placing everything in its proper place. It was the magic of forgetting.

I was moving in a narrow range between busy distractedness and a pervasive sadness whose granules seemed to enter each cell, weighing it down... I ghosted between islands of anxiety... a fatigue that dulled my zest, decanted it. Sorrow felt like a marble coat I couldn’t shed.