Best 1677 quotes in «tears quotes» category

Tränen sind sonderbar. Sonderbar, weil es Tränen der Trauer und Tränen der Freude gibt, aber sie kommen immer, wenn die Welt mehr ist, als man aushalten kann, wenn die Gefühle überfließen, wenn unsere Freude und unser Leid irgendwo ein Leck haben wie ein Boot.

True leaders are ready to sweat when making rehearsal, than to cry tears when actually practicing. To save the tears, be ready to sweat!

Trust is like a tear, once it is dropped, it cannot go back.

Truth about tears is that , most tears are the result of a delusion

...[T]wo of you can be no match for the three giants, I will find you, if I can, a third brother, who will take on himself the third share of the fight, and the preparation...I will show him to you in a glass, and, when he comes, you will know him at once. If he will share your endeavors, you must teach him all you know, and he will repay you well, in present song, and in future deeds.' She opened the door of a curious old cabinet that stood in the room. On the inside of this door was an oval convex mirror...we at length saw reflected the place where we stood, and the old dame seated in her chair...at the feet of the dame lay a young man...weeping. 'Surely this youth will not serve our ends,' said I, 'for he weeps.' The old woman smiled. 'Past tears are present strength,'said she.

Umbrellas raining upon me, as these cloudy tears give me shelter.

Upon reading, great stories by Great Spirits, the glorious inspiration penetrated our soul; we can’t help but to shed tears. It was a soul soothing and a deep spiritual awaken.

Watering a dead flower will not bring it back to life.

We cry to awake the spirituality of the soul.

We are taught to believe that the ‘alienation’ that we experience sometimes, when we withdraw from everything or feel alone, is a craving for something sexual, material, or in the physical - and can be cured by popping a pill in most cases. When in Truth, it’s the circuitry within our souls and minds that is hinting to be connected - to real flowing energy - outside of our TVs and computer monitors. What many of us mistaken for depression is actually a need to be understood, or to see desires come to fruition. There is absolutely nothing abnormal about feeling disconnected. Your sensitivity only means you are more human than most. If you cry, you are alive. I’d be more worried if you didn’t.

We do not know the worth of one single drop of blood, one single tear.

We are all running towards a destination which doesn't exist. On our way, dogs of life keep barking at us where we respond to some and some we throw stones at. Every dog teaches a lesson we are better off without. Every knife stabs a little deeper than we deserve. Every bruise stays a lot longer than it is meant to. Encumbered by forceful lessons of life we fight for the air of elation from the breaths we take to covert them into the moments of our real existence. Everything starts with life's tyrannical dominance and ends with our impelled submissiveness. We are the puppets of external circumstances and still we believe it's all on the inside. We should be laughing at our plight, someone has framed it with such sublimity. But all we do is ache at every shred of it because that's what keeps it alive.

We are all watching and not knowing what to do because when grown-ups cry, it's not like you can ask them what's wrong, or tell them to shut up; there are just no words for a grown-up's tears.

We cry to release the soul of its pain.

Weep hard as much as you need; but do not let your tears pursue the sorrow for the rest of your life.

We sat under the mango tree and I was holding his hand when he began to cry. Drops fell on my hand like the water from the dripstone in the filter in our yard. Then I began to cry too and when I felt my own tears on my hand I thought, 'Now perhaps we're married. 'Yes, certainly, now we're married,' I thought.

Well, at least this is what I told myself every day as I fell asleep with the fire still burning and the moon shining high up in the sky and my head spinning comforting from two bottles of wine, and I smiled with tears in my eyes because it was beautiful and so god damn sad and I did not know how to be one of those without the other.

We laugh, that we may not cry.

What comes from sorrow, watered by tears, grows something of beauty. A salt garden. And so this I leave behind. A harvest for those who find their way into my life and I into theirs.

We write to shed our sorrows and give strength to our spirit.

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 more beautiful tears, in someone’s eyes for me or in my eyes for them.

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 the weight of a tear? The single tear falls when the buckets have stopped, when dry eyes and a slightly raised chin sometimes let it slip, like a prayer. It carries the weight of a lifetime.

What is it, she asks me, why do people cry? Why do we cry when we're happy and when we're sad or hurt? I tell her what I know or think I know: that the body does not distinguish between emotional and physical pain; the muscles around the lachrymal glands receive a message from the brain, then tighten and squeeze out tears. Tears contain high levels of the hormone ACTH and prolactin, endorphins (which we know are mood-altering and pain-killing), as well as thirty times more manganese than is found in blood, suggesting that human tears can concentrate and remove harmful substances from the body. Prolactin in humans controls fluid balance; by the age of eighteen women have 60 percent more prolactin than men, which may explain why women seem to cry more often. I tell her that sadness--like happiness--is an intense feeling of being alive, of having essence. I try to explain to her my own nonscientific theory: that crying is about weight or heft, that we cry when our bodies feel too light or too heavy to bear or hold on to language.

What kind of emotion do you think is this which deserves tears but your eyes think the opositte...

When a human's tears dry up forever, they transform into a monster

What stung were the tears that dripped unbidden into the ruptured skin. They were salty, a familiar taste of distilled sorrow. When they mixed with blood, they created a potion for grief, that when swallowed, could drown her in a morass of darkness from which it would take her days to emerge.

What went away was never yours Why whine and shed tears? If you loved it so much Hide it in your heart as souvenir…

What they ask you for is actions, proofs, works, and all you can produce are transformed tears.

When Death, or adverse Fortune's ruthless gale, Tears our best hopes away, the wounded Heart Exhausted, leans on all that can impart The charm of Sympathy; her mutual wail How soothing! never can her warm tears fail To balm our bleeding grief's severest smart; Nor wholly vain feign'd Pity's solemn art, Tho' we should penetrate her sable veil. Concern, e'en known to be assum'd, our pains Respecting, kinder welcome far acquires Than cold Neglect, or Mirth that Grief profanes. Thus each faint Glow-worm of the Night conspires, Gleaming along the moss'd and darken'd lanes, To cheer the Gloom with her unreal fires.

When he let go of Clary, he turned and hugged Jace. Clary watched, tears running down her face.

Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next.

When Magnus looked at Imasu, he saw Imasu had dropped his head into his hands. "Er," Magnus said. "Are you quite all right?" "I was simply overcome," Imasu said in a faint voice. Magnus preened slightly. "Ah. Well." "By how awful that was," Imasu said. Magnus blinked. "Pardon?" "I can't live a lie any longer!" Imasu burst out. "I have tried to be encouraging. Dignitaries of the town have been sent to me, asking me to plead with you to stop. My own sainted mother begged me, with tears in her eyes - " "It isn't as bad as all that - " "Yes, it is!" It was like a dam of musical critique had broken. Imasu turned on him with eyes that flashed instead of shining. "It is worse than you can possibly imagine! When you play, all of my mother's flowers lose the will to live and expire on the instant. The quinoa has no flavor now. The llamas are migrating because of your music, and llamas are not a migratory animal. The children now believe there is a sickly monster, half horse and half large mournful chicken, that lives in the lake and calls out to the world to grant it the sweet release of death. The townspeople believe that you and I are performing arcane magic rituals - " "Well, that one was rather a good guess," Magnus remarked. " - using the skull of an elephant, an improbably large mushroom, and one of your very peculiar hats!" "Or not," said Magnus. "Furthermore, my hats are extraordinary." "I will not argue with that." Imasu scrubbed a hand through his thick black hair, which curled and clung to his fingers like inky vines. "Look, I know that I was wrong. I saw a handsome man, thought that it would not hurt to talk a little about music and strike up a common interest, but I don't deserve this. You are going to get stoned in the town square, and if I have to listen to you play again, I will drown myself in the lake." "Oh," said Magnus, and he began to grin. "I wouldn't. I hear there is a dreadful monster living in that lake." Imasu seemed to still be brooding about Magnus's charango playing, a subject that Magnus had lost all interest in. "I believe the world will end with a noise like the noise you make!" "Interesting," said Magnus, and he threw his charango out the window. "Magnus!" "I believe that music and I have gone as far as we can go together," Magnus said. "A true artiste knows when to surrender." "I can't believe you did that!" Magnus waved a hand airily. "I know, it is heartbreaking, but sometimes one must shut one's ears to the pleas of the muse." "I just meant that those are expensive and I heard a crunch.

When life’s journey is wearisome, put on hope’s shoes.

When men cry, real men, we cry Man Tears. Those are tears made up of actual meat. We basically cry pork chops and steaks. Imagine a steak tearing its way out of your eye. It hurts like hell, which causes more tears. It's a vicious cycle

When sorrow's cup is filled up to the brim,the slightest touch of memory can cause tears to spill again.

When she felt the tears coming up, building like a great hard pressure inside her, hot, so hot she thought they would burn, she swallowed them down deeper and deeper until they became a hard little stone in her chest.

When sadness knows the reason of tears, heart prepares to carry the ache for years

When she enters the room she immediately shuts the window and draws the shade with a quick, hard pull. Then she throws herself down on the bed, and the sobbing starts all over again. It's as if she can't sob when she's not in a lying position - either that or she has to start sobbing the moment she lies down.

When the heart is dry the eye is dry.

When she came back down, Sam and Astrid had arrived. Sam hugged Dekka, and the two of them stayed that way for a long time, saying nothing. Both had loved Brianna. To Edilio, Sam said, “I’m so sorry, man. I wish I’d . . . You know what I wish.” Edilio fought back a fresh rush of tears, nodded, waited until he was sure he could speak, and said, “I’m glad you’re back, boss.

When the heart is down and the soul is heavy, the eyes can only speak the language of tears

When the rain is on my lips And I shiver from the cold Thinking about life Its ups and downs And being a melancholic I take a note Of the nature's crying its tears Making the day seem gray And unexcited But how much life the rain brings To what is hidden beneath the surface So whenever I cry And the cold of people's words Or actions Causing me shiver I vision myself standing in the rain Bringing my roots to life I am not afraid anymore Of getting soaking wet I stand my ground! But please nature Don't let me drown, make me beautiful!

When two tears fall From each eye apart, Yet they join after all To form a sweetheart.

When we feel pain, our pen writes a river of tears and sorrows!

When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough. If we always had smiled on the one who is gone, there would be no despair in our grief; and some sweetness would cling to our tears, reminiscent of virtues and happiness. For our recollections of veritable love—which indeed is the act of virtue containing all others—call from our eyes the same sweet, tender tears as those most beautiful hours wherein memory was born.

When we see others cry it is difficult, not because of feeling their pain, but your own.

When you're crying, your tears may be watering the seeds of your come-back.

When you can share the lessons you learnt through tears and heartache and others find life in it and are better off for it, then beauty has come out of those ashes.