Best 478 quotes in «crying quotes» category

She lashed herself with every failing she could think of, then every regret, and fell to the ground, sobbing.

...she'll cry, and if she does, I probably will, and then she'll have found a way in, and I will not let her pierce my walls in a Trojan horse of sympathy.

She looked away, trying not to cry. She hated crying, and in public she hated it more.

She remembers talking to God a lot right after everything happened with Luke. She remembers crying and asking why, over and over. Asking for help, for strength, for understanding. Apologizing for what she did wrong. Talking through everything she could have, should have done differently. Begging for the torment to stop. She remembers belief and trust slowly turning sour. Still, she kept talking to God out of habit. And because she didn’t have anyone else to talk to. At night, in the dark sanctuary of her bedroom, alone, she could say the things she’d been keeping quiet. But she stopped expecting an answer. Stopped hoping for one. After a while, God felt as distant, as uncaring, as everyone else. And her prayers faded away.

She saw how the weight of his mistake, the affair, weighed down on him and he cried, brushing the tears on his cheeks away brusquely; his eyes rimmed with dark circles looked haunted.

She sucked up her tears and sniffled one last time. She wasn’t really ready, but she knew she had to be. She wiped her cheeks dry and summoned up all the courage she could muster. This was a matter of life and death. These strangers she was with would sooner leave her behind than risk their lives for her. She had to be tough, at least, for now.

She sobbed the way she did everything else- with passion and excess.

She stops speaking, but I can hear her silent sobs. They’re the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.

She threw herself across her bed, weeping into a pillow. She knew just what she wanted -- the desire was a fierce ache inside her. But fiercer still was the knowledge that it was beyond the reach of a female.

She was swamped by a feeling of utter hopelessness as she waited for him to destroy her with a few caustic words. But he continued to watch her silently, his face unreadable. It seemed almost as if he were waiting for some cue from her. The dilemma lasted for several seconds, until Sara solved it by bursting into tears. She jerked her hands up to her face, blotting her streaming eyes. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. Suddenly he was next to her, touching her shoulders and arms lightly and then jerking his hands back as if burned. "No, don't. Don't. You're all right now." Gingerly he reached out to pat her back. "Don't cry. Everything's fine. Bloody hell. Don't do that." As she continued to weep, Derek hovered over her in baffled dismay. He excelled at seducing women, charming and deceiving them, breaking down their defenses... everything but comforting them. No one had ever required it of him. "There, now," he muttered, as he had heard Lily Raiford say a thousand times to her crying children. "There, now." Suddenly she was leaning on him, her small head testing at the center of his chest. The long skeins of her hair draped everywhere, entangling him in a fine russet web. Alarmed, he lifted his hands to ease her away. Instead his arms slid around her until she was pressed against him length to length. "Miss Fielding," he said with great effort. "Sara..." She nestled deeper against him, muffling her gulping sobs in his shirtfront. Derek swore and furtively pressed his lips to the top of her head. He concentrated on the chilly night air, but his loins began to throb with an all-too-familiar pain. It was impossible to stay indifferent to the feel of her body molded to his. He was a bloody charlatan... no gentleman, no chivalrous comforter of women, only a scoundrel filled with raw desire. He smoothed his hand over her hair and urged her head into his shoulder until she was in danger of being smothered. "It's all right," he said gruffly. "Everything's fine now. Don't cry anymore.

She was too exhausted and downcast to take in the importance of the news- just as a person who has shed so many tears at the bedside of someone who is dying has none left for the actual moment of death.

She was swamped by a feeling of utter hopelessness as she waited for him to destroy her with a few caustic words. But he continued to watch her silently, his face unreadable. It seemed almost as if he were waiting for some cue from her. The dilemma lasted for several seconds, until Sara solved it by bursting into tears. She jerked her hands up to her face, blotting her streaming eyes. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. Suddenly he was next to her, touching her shoulders and arms lightly and then jerking his hands back as if burned. "No, don't. Don't. You're all right now." Gingerly he reached out to pat her back. "Don'y cry. Everything's fine. Bloody hell. Don't do that." As she continued to weep, Derek hovered over her in baffled dismay. He excelled at seducing women, charming and deceiving them, breaking down their defenses... everything but comforting them. No one had ever required it of him. "There, now," he muttered, as he had heard Lily Raiford say a thousand times to her crying children. "There, now." Suddenly she was leaning on him, her small head testing at the center of his chest. The long skeins of her hair draped everywhere, entangling him in a fine russet web. Alarmed, he lifted his hands to ease her away. Instead his arms slid around her until she was pressed against him length to length. "Miss Fielding," he said with great effort. "Sara..." She nestled deeper against him, muffling her gulping sobs in his shirtfront. Derek swore and furtively pressed his lips to the top of her head. He concentrated on the chilly night air, but his loins began to throb with an all-too-familiar pain. It was impossible to stay indifferent to the feel of her body molded to his. He was a bloody charlatan... no gentleman, no chivalrous comforter of women, only a scoundrel filled with raw desire. He smoothed his hand over her hair and urged her head into his shoulder until she was in danger of being smothered. "It's all right," he said gruffly. "Everything's fine now. Don't cry anymore.

Shortly after we met, my mother died. That day at her funeral, he stood beside me, I knew he was my angel. "Why are you crying?" I said, watching him wipe his eyes. "Why you are not crying?" he said. "Your mother is dead. You are daughter with no mother. I love you. Of course I cry.

Sloppy crying had never helped anyone yet.

slow down, oh sweet tears flowing nectar...down my lashes' tips someday someone will kiss you away, even before you can reach my lips.

Some say crying purges. I say it drains. There’s a difference. One takes the bad things from you to help close a space. The other opens you and leaves you empty

Some people on bus seats shake at the shoulders, Stoned Elvises trying to dance after the gig. Some walk into the rain and look like they’re smiling, Running mascara writes sad bitter letters on their faces. Some drive their cars into lay-bys or park edges And cradle the steering-wheel looking like headless drivers. Some sink their open mouths into feather pillows And tremble on the bed like beached dolphins. Some people are bent as question marks when they weep And some are straight as exclamation marks. Some are soaking in emotional dew when they wake, Salt street maps etched into their faces. Some find rooms and fall to the floor as if praying to Allah. Noiseless Faces contorted in that silent scream that seems like laughter. Why is there not a tissue-giver? A man who looks for tears, Who makes the finest silk tissues and offers them for free? It seems to me that around each corner, beneath each stone, Are humans quietly looking for a place to cry on their own.

sometimes crying is needed to feel better. The pressure of life becomes so much at times that you need to relieve it.

Sometimes,” I said, “you have to cry before you can smile again.

Sometimes, breaking down is the bravest thing you can do.

Sometimes the things that make you cry are more beautiful than the things that make you laugh.

Sometimes you feel that you are crying but tears won't come out of your eyes.

Sometimes, we can’t help but to shed tears!

Sometimes you have to smile to keep from crying.

Sometimes when I have the feeling like I’m almost crying, it can turn into an almost-laughing feeling.

Sometimes you want to curl up and cry until you can cry no more. But you realize that that would leave you exposed and vulnerable. So you turn, and realize that there is no one to turn to.

Stop crying. If you really want to torture yourself, it’s best to shut yourself in your room and do it. Once you go outside, not only will you be disturbed by someone, but you won’t be able to do it to the full extent. -4th Prince

Sooo, I'm tired of people thinking I'm a freak. I know you can't relate to that but -" "Get over it already, will ya?" Candace stood. "You're not Smellody anymore. You're pretty. You can get hot guys now. Tanned ones with good vision. Not geeky hose jousters." She shut the window. "Don't you ever want to use your lips as something other than veneer protectors?" Melody felt a familiar pinch behind her eyes. Her throat dried. Her eyes burned. And then they came. Like salty little paratroopers, tears descended en masse. She hated Candace thought she had never made out with a boy. But how could she convince a seventeen-year-old with more dates than a fruitcake that Randy the Starbucks cashier (aka Scarbucks, because of his acne scars) was a great kisser? She couldn't.

Stop complaining, start contributing; stop crying, start smiling; and stop criticizing, start praising.

Stop the pity party! Your sorrow is full and complete when you go through unfortunate circumstances and decide to mourn for life as a result of the unexpected.

Soon enough the tears came but of course nobody came down to see if she was all right, it was just the slut in the kitchen who'd ruined their lives, getting drunk of neat gin and howling for her lost lunatic offer.

Spring is the season of crying and seeing nothing. Of choking up on someone else's trash.

Sunny held Kit, and Violet held Klaus, and for a minute the four castaways did nothing but weep, letting their tears run down their faces and into the sea, which some have said is nothing but a library of all tears in history.

SUICIDE... Is to have the freedom to choose; when, where and how to die. ― John Zea

Suddenly the birds become silent. I look up and they all flush out of the tree at the same time. The dogs feel the overbearing silence too, and they are trying to fill it with barking. I want to cry more than ever now.

Tears are handy for washing away troubling and sad feelings. But when you grow up, you'll learn that there are things so sad, they can never be washed away by tears. That there are painful memories that should never be washed away. So people who are truly strong laugh when they want to cry. They endure all of the pain and sorrow while laughing with everybody else.

Tain't no use in you cryin' . . . But folks is meant to cry 'bout somethin' or other. Better leave things de way dey is. Youse young yet. No tellin' whut mout happen befo' you die.

Tears are kind of like urine. There is only so long you can hold them in.

Tears are part of the leeway of the common areas of a hospital, since so many have to do their crying away from the patient's bed. You don't care who sees you cry in the lobby: it was port of entry for all the sorrows, and one gave up all one's previous citizenship at the border.

Tears never were worth the effort of crying them.

Tears sprang from her eyes and she bit her lip to stop herself from howling at the bright pain.

Tears won’t help me right now. They’ll just make me weaker.

Tears are good for you," Raphael said. When she opened her eyes back up, he knelt down. His large frame seemed to make the room shrink. His face was almost level with hers as his eyes met Emma's. "They are a gift from the Creator to his creation. Tears release endorphins in the mind that help sooth and comfort. They cleanse the eyes and relieve stress, thereby lowering blood pressure and taking strain off of the heart. He created you with tears and nothing he created is bad. Those tears you are holding in are necessary, Emma. Let them fall, let them heal, and let them remind you with each one that you are not alone.

Tears came to his eyes, which he quietly wiped away. He told himself it was okay to cry, since no one could see him in the dark. However, it was only in the dark when he would see her face as clear as day. He missed her so much.

Tears had poured from her eyes without any change in her facial expression. It’s pure pain and pure surrender when your soul cries without any fight from your body and that’s how I knew she was deeply affected.

Tears wash away the soot of indifference.

Tears will not fill your stomach; Tears will not bring kindness. If you have time to shed tears, laugh; someone will be willing to look at a hearty smile more then a tear soaked sponge.

Thanks To Those People Who Give A Taste Of Right Ways. ” - Zia Mustafa

Thank you Jonah." He lowers his head at the break in my voice. I ignore the moisture in his eyes and pretend that mine don't sting. "For what?" he whispers. " For showing me that people can change. Even if it is one person out of a million.

That's enough crying about the problems, let's begin killing the problems.