Best 478 quotes in «crying quotes» category

Are you crying?" "No, it's raining, but only on my face.

As adults, we hvae many inhibitions against crying. We feel it is an expression of weakness, or femininity or of childishness. The person who is afraid to cry is afraid of pleasure. This is because the person who is afraid to cry holds himself together rigidly so that he won't cry; that is, the rigid person is as afraid of pleasure as he is afraid to cry. In a situation of pleasure he will become anxious. As his tensions relax he will begin to tremble and shake, and he will attempt to control this trembling so as not to break down in tears. His anxiety is nothing more than the conflict between his desire to let go and his fear of letting go. This conflict will arise whenever the pleasure is strong enough to threaten his rigidity. Since rigidity develops as a means to block out painful sensations, the release of rigidity or the restoration of the natural motility of the body will bring these painful sensations to the fore. Somewhere in his unconscious the neurotic individual is aware that pleasure can evoke the repressed ghosts of the past. It could be that such a situation is responsible for the adage "No pleasure without pain.

As I came closer, it took shape: long, slender, and curling, with numerous heart-shaped leaves. I felt my soul leap inside me. For Ivy's tree was now hung with her namesake. Jade-green ivy clutched the bark with such strength that, no matter how hard you pulled, it would never let go. I know I started crying then. My friends came to my side at once, patting my back and telling me that everything was going to be okay. And though the tears kept coming, I knew they were right. Everything was really going to be fine now. Because here, in front of me, was something I'd been hoping and praying for. I'd been searching for a sign, a signal to give me comfort in Ivy's passing and to tell me she was okay. And at last, here it was, growing all around me.

A smile is a song from the heart; a tear is a letter from the soul.

As my hand found his, bitter salt tears spilled from my eyes, in sorrow and pain and regret that I had so utterly failed him.

At least the tears on my desk wipe away the dust that's covered this place

At night we cry sometimes, and if you think that just applies to the females then you have never been in combat, because everyone cries sooner or later. Everyone cries.

At that, Marty howled great big, messy sobs, and Elanor, the little lady in the yellow suit, who organized the weddings at the church, came running with a box of tissue. Oz appeared in the vestibule, looking alarmed. “Is everything all right? I thought someone was strangling a duck.” “Do you mind?” Marty snapped. “Me and the bride, here, we’re having a moment.

at the grocery store i practice trying to make myself feel good by pretending i am a regular person buying her groceries & not a very sad person trying to distract herself from crying.

BELONG You said I belong to you And I agree But the quality of that belonging Is a question of some importance. I do not belong to you Like a purchase Something ordered and sold And delivered in a box To be put up and shown off To friends and admirers. I would not belong to you that way And I know you would not have me so. I will tell you how I belong to you. I belong to you like a ring on a finger A symbol of something eternal. I belong to you like a heart in a chest Beating in time to another heart. I belong to you like a word on the air Sending love to your ear. I belong to you like a kiss on your lips Put there by me, in the hope of more to come. And most of all I belong to you Because in where I hold my hopes I hold the hope that you belong to me. It is a hope I unfold for you now like a gift. Belong to me like a ring And a heart And a word And a kiss And like a hope held close. I will belong to you like all these things And also something more Something we will discover between us And will belong to us alone. You said I belong to you And I agree. Tell me you belong to me, too. I wait for your word And hope for your kiss. Love you. Enzo.

Billy took off his tri-focals and his coat and his necktie and his shoes, and he closed the venetian blinds and then the drapes, and he lay down on the outside of the coverlet. But sleep would not come. Tears came instead. They seeped. [...] He closed his eyes, and opened them again. He was still weeping, but he was back in Luxembourg again. He was marching with a lot of other prisoners. It was a winter wind that was bringing tears to his eyes.

Do you think you could stop crying for a minute? It makes conversation a bit difficult.

Dr. Suess said: 'Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened..' I tell my dates: 'Don't cry because it happened, smile because it's over

Enjoy life, even in the most chaotic, hectic moments. Take time to breathe. Take time to consider what is important versus what is rubbish. Those are the times where slowing down is healthiest. Those are the times where it really counts. And, if you come across an impossible situation, crying will not help. Open your mouth, but instead of sobs and wails, give out a little chuckle. It’ll make all the difference in your attitude and therefore, in your situation.

Even the nicest people have their limits. It's called Crying. Once done crying, they get back to being nice and ready to be violated again.

Eventually I confess to a friend some details about my weeping—its intensity, its frequency. She says (kindly) that she thinks we sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair.

Everybody needs a comfy space to cry!

Every once in a while, a good cry is needed in order to move forward.

Everyone tells you it's all right to cry, but not enough people say it's all right if you don't want people to know.

Every revolution begins with one voice crying in the wilderness.

Every shed tears is a prayer.

Fear no more as long as her memory surrounds you like a ghost…cry no more as long as she weeps for you like a willow.

Feeling of crying hard and expressing your deepest pain in the arms of your loved one is much deeper and worth experience than to have laugh and fun with your loved one.

Figure out what makes you laugh, and do more of it. Figure out what makes you cry, and do less of it.

Folk gråter för litet, visste de hur mycket de borde gråta skulle de aldrig sluta, börjar man gråta finns det inget slut på det.

For a few seconds Maria did not move, or even breathe, apparently. Then she gave a sorrowful gulp and, like all little girls, even those who speak to fantastical wild boars and mercurial horses, she collapsed in desperate sobs, of the kind that come so easily to a twelve-year-old, and so hard to a person of forty.

For better or worse, she was the lady Soraya. And the lady Soraya would never dream of missing the warm bulk of Casia's body between her and the hearth, or the comforting drone of Ludo's snores. Or the wry laughter of a slave... a slave, for Azura's sake! The lady Soraya needed no one. The lady Soraya cried herself to sleep.

For a while she cried silently until she tired herself out and the overwhelming feeling of sleepiness overcame her. The room around her was fairly silent, although she wasn’t the only one crying herself to sleep. It was quite common at places like this to hear cries in the dark. There were so many saddened and lonesome souls around her. It was usually at night when they were reminded of just how sad and lonely they actually were.

För jag, kommer aldrig låta dig få se mig svag. Jag gråter bara i regnet.

For once the crofter was at a a rather loss for words, for to him nothing has ever been more completely unintelligible than the reasoning that is bred of tears.

For the second time since meeting her, Echo looked as if I’d slapped her. Water pooled at the bottom edges of her eyes, her cheeks flushed red and she blinked rapidly. She’d succeeded in making me feel like a d*ck … again.

Furthermore, the controlling caregiver possesses poor boundaries, if they have any at all. These poor boundaries set the child up for numerous failures in adult life. The controlled child is like a chess piece or toy soldier who is constantly moved around, picked up, put down, ordered to do this, ordered not to do that, commanded to feel this, and commanded not to feel that.

Getting responses on "Through the Milky Way" that it is creating an emotional investment by some of my readers. A gentleman I have know for awhile took the book on a vacation to the beach. While reading it, his wife came up to him and asked him why he was crying. He told her the book was sad and something he could relate to. Had others with the same response.

God Layken. How do you do it?" she says. "How do I do what?" I sniff as I continue to wipe the tears from my eyes. "How do you not fall in love with him?" The tears begin flowing just as quickly as they had ceased….."I don't not fall in love with him. I don't not fall in love with him a lot!

God lives in my soul, and I must spend my life scrubbing my soul clean of any trace of sin so that it derserves to host his presence. Repentance is a daily chore; at each morning prayer session we repent in advance for the sins we will commit that day. I look around at the others, who must sincerly believe in their inherent evil, as they are shamelessly crying and wailing to God to help them expunge the yetzer hara, or evil inclination, from their consciousness.

Gray. The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me. Gray...

Grief works its way on people differently. Some sulk, or become morose, or weep and scream a vengeance at the gods.

Happiness grows best in the soil of contentment.

Heartaches are like giving a rope to hang onto only to take it away the next moment.

Hearing those words, I instinctively turn to my new keeper, regretting it, because for only the third time in my entire existence, tears are streaming down my cheeks.

He'd always known that shit rolled downhill, but he never knew tears did the same thing.

He disliked tears, he has always disliked tears, had never understood them, and sometimes lost his temper over them; but he felt now that he could not rebuke this flower of his life, this innocent form, water and youth are inseparable companions, and besides it's Christmas night. So he merely hinted again that she must have forgotten again that he had promised to build her a house.

He has always been the kid who cries too easily and laughs too easily, the kid who begins giggling in church for no reason at all, who blinks hotly in shame and frustration whenever he misses a question in class, living in an otherland of sparkling daydreams and imaginary catastrophes.

He held Saraid the rest of the way home, and in a way she held him right back, because sometimes and especially for a man, being able to be someone’s big strong shoulder to cry on helps you not need to cry so very much yourself.

He pictured the smile he would have drawn on her lips had she read his words, had her heart kept on beating for one more day. He was perching on the edge of his town jetty thinking about the memories he had with her there, as a droplet of his tears became indistinguishable amongst the ocean of water beneath his feat.

He placed his hand on Willem's arm. 'Willem, don't cry.' 'I'm not going to,' he said. 'I can do other things in life besides cry, you know,' although he was no longer sure that was even true.

He put his arms around me and squeezed tight, so that I felt the heaves of his chest as we realized over and over again that we were still alive. I realized it in waves and we held on to each other crying and I thought "God we must look so lame," but it doesn't matter when you have just now realized, all the time later, that you are still alive.

He now sees that I’ve clearly been crying for years.

Her arms groped forward to guide her when her tears blocked her vision in darkness. Then she couldn't run any more. She sank to her knees and began to cry in her terror. She wanted Gary. She suddenly felt strong arms around her. She bent her head to bury it in Gary's shoulder, trembling in the darkness. Whimpering like a small animal in a trap, she pushed herself closer to him and said in a choked voice, "I'm so frightened!" "I know, my love," the voice said. "I'm so sorry you were hurt." She felt herself being pulled up to him, his grip around her tight. It was a strange feeling in this pitch-black hallway, where not even the light of the moon cast any illumination. The lips she touched were cold and yet they responded to her with an unusual warmth. His hands massaged her back. Something, Melanie thought, was wrong with that. The hands were too smooth, not like a plastered wrist would feel. "Gary?" she asked, backing away. She didn't trust what she couldn't see. "My love," the voice whispered, "there is no need to fear now. I shall protect you from those who mean you harm.

Her eyes were glistening, but for some reason he couldn't reach out and touch her. It was like some gestures were so simple they were beyond him.