Best 1677 quotes in «tears quotes» category

A million tears fall from my eyes; I can't continue with this life; I don't know why I fall in love If love is only meant to hurt me

Amy! Never underestimate the rare tears of man..because that's always a sign that he has lost hope,out of options and more dangerously has nothing to lose...

And because he could do nothing about it, Tern’s anger suffocated him. It made more tears.

And of course I started to cry. Not for myself strangely enough, though I am sure I could have, with capital and interest, but no, not for myself. For my mother? Who can really itemise the cause of our human tears?

And our tears are an expression of that which we cannot express. Tears are perfect prayer.

And now, for something completely the same: Wasted time and wasted breath, 's what I'll make, until my death. Helping people 'd be as good, but I wouldn't, if I could. For the few that help deserve, have no need, or not the nerve, help from strangers to accept, plus from mine a few have wept. Wept from joy, or from despair, or just from my vengeful stare. Ways I have, to look at stupid, make them see I am not Cupid. Make them see they are in error, for of truth I am a bearer. Most decide I'm just a bear, mauling at them, - like I care.

And perhaps some will never understand, It is mostly the farewells that unite us, and last in our memory forever, Even more than the first meeting.

And the rain drops kept falling like the sweetest music leaving tears on the glass, which is what music does to me most of the time but silence too. and rain.

And the poor lady, so small in her black satin, shrivelled up and sallow, with her funny corkscrew curls, took the little boy on her lap and put her arms around him and wept as though her heart would break. But her tears were partly tears of happiness, for she felt that the strangeness between them was gone. She loved him now with a new love because he had made her suffer.

And yet here he was, looking at Jem Carstairs, a boy so fragile-looking that he appeared to be made out of glass, with the hardness of his expression slowly dissolving into tentative uncertainty. "You are not really dying," he said, the oddest tone to his voice, "are you?" Jem nodded. "So they tell me." "I am sorry," Will said. "No", Jem said softly. He drew his jacket aside and took a knife from the belt at his waist. "Don't be ordinary like that. Don't say you're sorry. Say you'll train with me." He held the knife to Will, hilt first. Charlotte held her breath, afraid to move. She felt as if she were watching something very important happen, though she could not have said what. Will reached out and took the knife, his eyes never leaving Jem's face. His fingers brushed the other boy's as he took the weapon from him. It was the first time, Charlotte thought that she had ever seen him touch any other person willingly. "I'll train with you," he said.

Anger and tears create the space for the work of the Spirit. They are the groaning of the Spirit for renewal or creation and an expression of compassion thus revealing a deep spiritual well. To fear our tears or to suppress our anger is to block the power of the spirit springing forth from within our spiritual wells to resist death and to sustain and renew life.

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

As far as he could discover, there were no signs of spring. The decay that covered the surface of the mottled ground was not the kind in which life generates. Last year, he remembered, May had failed to quicken these soiled fields. It had taken all the brutality of July to torture a few green spikes through the exhausted dirt. What the little park needed, even more than he did, was a drink. Neither alcohol nor rain would do. Tomorrow, in his column, he would ask Broken-hearted, Sick-of-it-all, Desperate, Disillusioned-with-tubercular-husband and the rest of his correspondents to come here and water the soil with their tears. Flowers would then spring up, flowers that smelled of feet. "Ah, humanity..." But he was heavy with shadow and the joke went into a dying fall. He trist to break its fall by laughing at himself.

A single tear forms, just in the corner of one eye, but it doesn't roll down my cheek; it merely crystallizes in the cold air, it grows and grows into a second giant globe that doesn't want to orbit with the world—it breaks off from the planet and plunges into infinity.

A true friend sees your tears of sadness, And quickly turns them into tears of joy and laughter, Forming a rainbow.

As to the other three, if they had been perfection they would not have been real girls, and you could not have wept over their trials and laughed over their pleasures.

A Tear drop upon your sould will bloom as the rose that is hidden deep within your soul" rdp

A storm is an artist who passes by on her way to paint your rainbow.

A tear cringed off his cheek and stained her writing on the paper. He didn’t wipe it, men must be honest and transparent, they should never wipe their tears.

A thousand years of tears can only be voluntarily avoided,

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

At night, with only the bedside lamp on, I would pretend to sleep and listened to Dad’s muffled crying in the semi-darkness, wishing that I could cry like him, that I could bring Stevan back from the dead by the strength of my tears. But they were regular tears carving the same slicing-hot trails down my cheeks, and in the end, I could not summon a distinct kind of grief for Stevan. Just the same grief that has gripped mankind for centuries, which time would inevitably ebb into a notch in one’s skin or a small limp in the way one walks or a bottled memory that would only resurface some nights. And soon, you’d struggle to remember how that person talked or how that person used to occupy a customized space in your life. And you don’t want to forget, but you don’t want to remember either, and there seemed to be no place where you could just exist.

Aura," he whispered, "I wish I could wipe away just one of your tears. Then I'd feel like a person again. Like I'm something more than a bunch of light.

Because in our pain we must find each other – mirror to mirror the grace of our shared humanity, the stunningly broken beauty of our shared grief. And you can let your grief see my grief and let our tears mingle into some kind of healing alchemy, and you’ll know what i know. That we are never alone. I promise. You and me? We are never, ever alone.

A writer draws a road map where readers walks with their love, joy, anger, tears, and dismay. Every story, every poem, has different meanings for every reader.

[B]eauty is one of the things that make you cry and so maybe beauty is always tied up in tears.

Because I want to know if I'm allowed to kiss your tears away. Because I want to be able to hold your hand. Because I like you.

before picking up the spilled diamonds, she locked the door and embraced him, weeping — the touch of her skin and silk was all the magic of life, but why does everybody greet me with tears?

Before the tears of the eyes dry out Let them sprinkle words on the paper Life is short and the man shall die But the words shall live on forever...

Behind every self-made person are blood, sweat and tears.

Books can break a man open, even ones about a panda, maybe especially so.

...beneath torrents of spring rain, buds come to life - and we do too, beneath torments of tears...

Better to laugh at the human play than weep over it.

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.

Breakups can be sad, but sometimes tears are the price we pay for a freedom we need.

Breathe as the tears flow, Breathe when you cannot gaze up high, Breathe as to know the world will lie, Breathe when you choke to ask: “Why?” Breathe even when you are about to die. Breathe when each day is a task, Breathe when every person you know wears a facial mask, Breathe because to yourself you have to ask: “Breathe because in glory I have to bask.” Breathe as the sun is to rise, Breathe even when you touch the skies, Breathe as you celebrate your triumph, success and highs, Breathe because you have to be yet grounded and be Wise. Breathe when you dive, Breathe when you strive, Breathe when to your success, you give a high-five, Breathe because you are still alive!

Tears The first woman who ever wept was appalled at what stung her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Saltwater. Seawater. How was it possible? Hadn't she and the man spent many days moving upland to where the grass flourished, where the stream quenched their thirst with sweet water? How could she have carried these sea drops as if they were precious seeds; where could she have stowed them? She looked at the watchful gazelles and the heavy-lidded frogs; she looked at glass-eyed birds and nervous, black-eyed mice. None of them wept, not even the fish that dripped in her hands when she caught them. Not even the man. Only she carried the sea inside her body.

Besides a burial service is rather lovely. Makes you feel uplifted, the grief is real. It makes you feel awful but it does something to you. I mean, it works it out like perspiration.

Breathing became a painful chore. Her lips turned down while her warm fingers caressed my cheek. That touch typically brought me to my knees, but now it cut me open. “Did you know that when you stop being stubborn and accept I may be right on something, your eyes widen a little and you tilt your head to the side?” she asked. I forced my head straight and narrowed my eyes. “I love you.” She flashed her glorious smile and then it became the saddest smile in the world. “You love your brothers more. I’m okay with that. In fact, it’s one of the things I love about you. You were right the other day. I do want to be part of a family. But I’d never forgive myself if I was the reason you didn’t get yours.” To my horror, tears pricked my eyes and my throat swelled shut. “No, you’re not pulling this sacrificial bullshit on me. I love you and you love me and we’re supposed to be together.” Echo pressed her body to mine and her fingers clung to my hair. Water glistened in her eyes. “I love you enough to never make you choose.”

But God gave us tears because he knew that sometimes we would need to let out some of our sadness.

But I am not allowed to forget The taste of the tears of yesterday.

But laugh?" He pressed the flat of his hand against my stomach. "Here lives laugh." He ran his finger straight up to my mouth and spread his fingers. "Push back laugh is not good. Not healthy." "Also cry?" I asked. I traced an imaginary tear down my cheek with one finger. "Also cry." He put his hand on his own belly. "Ha ha ha," he said, pressing his hand to show me the motion of his stomach. Then his expression changed to sad. "Huh huh huh," he heaved with exaggerated sobs, pressing his stomach again. "Same place. Not healthy to push down.

But now her tears dried because so many terrible emotions and speculations demanded her attention.

But the absence of tears wasn't the same as an absence of feeling.

But tears are an indulgence. Memory sings.

But tears don't bring back the dead. I learned that.

But thinking never took away tears. Only time did.

But there are tears in my eyes and then I can’t stop crying, stood there on that practice pitch in the dark, the tears rolling down my bloody cheeks, for once in my fucking life glad that I’m alone.

But unshed tears can turn rancid. So can memory. So can biting your tongue. My bad nights were beginning. I couldn't sleep.

Buy laughter with tears, and you'll be rich forever.