Best 1677 quotes in «tears quotes» category

In life; there are two things you should never believe: the tears of women and the hearts of men, and there are two things you should always believe in life; the hearts of women, and the tears of men.

In suffering, the soul cries out!

In tears, we labour for what we want.

In the distance, Amanda heard the sirens. Just a little bit longer. She didn't know what was wrong with her, but she was scared of dying before she had the chance to tell Ryker goodbye. In their capable hands, though, surely they could keep her alive long enough for him to return. They had to.

In the campaign of 1876, Robert G. Ingersoll came to Madison to speak. I had heard of him for years; when I was a boy on the farm a relative of ours had testified in a case in which Ingersoll had appeared as an attorney and he had told the glowing stories of the plea that Ingersoll had made. Then, in the spring of 1876, Ingersoll delivered the Memorial Day address at Indianapolis. It was widely published shortly after it was delivered and it startled and enthralled the whole country. I remember that it was printed on a poster as large as a door and hung in the post-office at Madison. I can scarcely convey now, or even understand, the emotional effect the reading of it produced upon me. Oblivious of my surroundings, I read it with tears streaming down my face. It began, I remember: "The past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in the great struggle for national life.We hear the sounds of preparation--the music of boisterous drums--the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see the pale cheeks of women and the flushed faces of men; and in those assemblages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers..." I was fairly entranced. he pictured the recruiting of the troops, the husbands and fathers with their families on the last evening, the lover under the trees and the stars; then the beat of drums, the waving flags, the marching away; the wife at the turn of the lane holds her baby aloft in her arms--a wave of the hand and he has gone; then you see him again in the heat of the charge. It was wonderful how it seized upon my youthful imagination. When he came to Madison I crowded myself into the assembly chamber to hear him: I would not have missed it for every worldly thing I possessed. And he did not disappoint me. A large handsome man of perfect build, with a face as round as a child's and a compelling smile--all the arts of the old-time oratory were his in high degree. He was witty, he was droll, he was eloquent: he was as full of sentiment as an old violin. Often, while speaking, he would pause, break into a smile, and the audience, in anticipation of what was to come, would follow him in irresistible peals of laughter. I cannot remember much that he said, but the impression he made upon me was indelible. After that I got Ingersoll's books and never afterward lost an opportunity to hear him speak. He was the greatest orater, I think, that I have ever heard; and the greatest of his lectures, I have always thought, was the one on Shakespeare. Ingersoll had a tremendous influence upon me, as indeed he had upon many young men of that time. It was not that he changed my beliefs, but that he liberated my mind. Freedom was what he preached: he wanted the shackles off everywhere. He wanted men to think boldly about all things: he demanded intellectual and moral courage. He wanted men to follow wherever truth might lead them. He was a rare, bold, heroic figure.

I pulled on the restraints, frustrated, hurting, and completely devastated. I could feel tears sliding down my skin, into my ears, and back over my scalp. Which told me that they’d cut off my hair, too. For some reason, that little bit of vanity was what it took to undo me completely.

I regret all the prayers that do not shed tears.

I read it over and over again, until I notice the paper getting wet, the ink blurring into little flowers.

Ry-Rylan?" Ivy's voice is faint. I crawl over to her side, my eyes never once straying from hers. "Rylan?" "I'm here," I whisper, stroking her forehead with tenderness. "I'm here, and I'm not leaving you." She grins weakly. The light in her eyes is starting to slowly fade. "Thank you. I wish I could say the same...for me." "Don't say that," I beg. "You're not going to die. I'll get some water, out the fire out, and everything will be fine—" Ivy places her hand on mine. "Water will not stop it. Once it starts, the fire will keep going. See how it spreads?" She's right. In these few moments the flames have spread up to her waist, licking her body with searing tongues. Something glows. Glancing down, I see Ivy healing my burned palms. Once she's done, she places her hand on my bloody shoulder and heals that too. "There," she murmurs, letting her hand drop. "You are all healed. My last gift to you." "You can't leave," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. Tears prick my eyes. "You can't leave." "We all have to leave sometimes," Ivy muses, so calm in the face of death. "Even swamp angels.

İstediği zaman gözyaşlarını içine akıtıp gülümseyebilme yeteneğine sahip olmuştu.Bu yüzden de gözyaşlarının gerçek olup olmadığını o da anlamıyordu. Oscar'lı bir oyuncu gibiydi.

I sit, but I'm still stiff as a board. My hands are clenched tight, as if I'm holding my tears in my palms and if I loose my grip, they'll come tumbling out.

I still want to feel you against me.” Her gaze dropped to his hands. “I want you to stay with me. Hold me. Just tonight. If I lose you again tomorrow then it will still be worth it. I will lose you a hundred times, if you would but hold me in your arms each time before my loss.” She saw his eyes water, but no tears emerged...

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears. While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick’s furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

Is there any good left in the world/ And if there is, can you still find it in the places that matter? Why is it that the only places i see it now, is in the graves of the victims, and the tears of those who mourn them?

I stood in my garden as the rain poured down, eyes closed, and when I opened them I thought to myself how I'd never seen anything more beautiful. Green flashed before my eyes; trees, leaves and grass, glittering with raindrops, the tears of angels weeping with sadness and joy; green, the colour of love, to remind me why I'm here.

I sweat in tears to get what I want.

I take my metal canister of tea off the shelf. It is my own mixture of dried lavender blossoms and lemon balm, harvested from my garden and hung in the storeroom to dry. Weed helped me hang these stalks, I think. His hands touched these tender leaves, just as they touch me.

I teetered on the verge of tears but laughed instead.

{The resolution of the surviving members of the Eleventh Illinois Cavalry, whom Robert Ingersoll was the commander of, at his funeral quoted here} Robert G. Ingersoll is dead. The brave soldier, the unswerving patriot, the true friend, and the distinguished colonel of the old regiment of which we have the honor to be a remanent, sleeps his last sleep. No word of ours, though written in flame, no chaplet that our hands can weave, no testimony that our personal knowledge can bring, will add anything to his fame. The world honors him as the prince of orators in his generation, as its emancipator from manacles and dogmas; philosophy, for his aid in beating back the ghosts of superstition; and we, in addition to these, for our personal knowledge of him, as a man, a soldier, and a friend. We know him as the general public did not. We knew him in the military camp, where he reigned an uncrowned king, ruling with that bright scepter of human benevolence which death alone could wrest from his hand. We had the honor to obey, as we could, his calm but resolute commands at Shiloh, at Corinth, and at Lexington, knowing as we did, that he would never command a man to go where he would not dare to lead the way. We recognize only a small circle who could know more of his manliness and worth than we do. And to such we say: Look up, if you can, through natural tears; try to be as brave as he was, and try to remember -- in the midst of grief which his greatest wish for life would have been to help you to bear -- that he had no fear of death nor of anything beyond.

It is ludicrous why we human beings try so hard to conceal our tear. We fail to fathom that the more we camouflage our tears, the more we escalate the burden of grief in our heart. It is simple and wise to let the burden of grief metamorphose into tears and flow from our eyes.

I thought about how often this was needed in everyday life. How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don't let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry. Or how we feel a surge of love for a partner but we don't say anything because we're frozen with the fear of what those words might do to the relationship.

It is easier to wipe a thousand tears from your eyes than to wipe a single tear from your soul.

I thought about how often this was needed in everyday life. How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don't let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry.

It is definitely not a coincidence that they are called 'tears'.

It is in vain to wipe away tears in the rain.

It is not too late... there is time still." I am dying. There are tears in my eyes. Please cradle my head in your hand. Let me look into the stars. Are they really in the sky? Or are they just in my mind because what is there I cannot see? The woman tilted her head, revealing a rim of bruising around a clean-tucked hole in her head. There was blood. Dry blood. This is more pain than a human heart can bear. Like fistfuls of fear, cries shoot from my eyes. There are tears running down my face. It is a salty, bitter taste. My wounds need care. I look up to my mom, but can think of nothing to say. I am dying. I need you. Embrace me. I am dying... "Shhhh...

It is not written that you may not grieve. It is not written that you may not shed any tears. It is not written that feeling the emotion of the hurt that touched you would only make you weak. But it is written that after the rain, you will get a wonderful rainbow. It is written that at the end of every tunnel, you will find a bright light. It is written that after a journey of a thousand steps, you will find your way to your destination. It is written that after every difficulty comes ease, After every pain comes joy, After every hurt comes understanding. It is not written that you may not grieve, But my Darling, You can’t cry every time someone asks you your name!

It is such a terrifying thought; that the laughs of today might be the tears of tomorrow…

it is so dark now with the sadness of people they were tricked, they were taught to expect the ultimate when nothing is promised now young girls weep alone in small rooms old men angrily swing their canes at visions as ladies comb their hair as ants search for survival history surrounds us and our lives slink away in shame.

It is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom.

It pierced the heart...and there was blood all around...soaking his hands in it, he tried wiping her tears...

it kept him from seeing the tears that were forming at the corners of my eyes, threatening to test the waterproofness of Macey’s new mascara,

It's funny how the only feeling I enjoy is pain, it only makes sense when I am crying, it only feels good when tears reach my heart, its good to be broken and I want my life this way. I can see more, understand more, love more, I am just a start passing by

It takes a lot of faith, courage, persistence, and perseverance to live the life of a winner. But in the end, it will surely worth every blood, sweat, and tears.

It's not my fault you didn't hear my cries, if only you would have read my eyes.

I've turned my tears into prayers

It was a perfect moment and she was shocked to feel a tear roll slowly down her cheek. The warm droplet reached his finger where it lay against her skin, and even though it was far too dark to see anything clearly, she sensed that he was bringing it up to his mouth.

It was ridiculous, at times, how many tears one body could produce.

I've wept enough in my life. I have no tears left.

I wanted to write you a love poem But my heart feels out of tune So I coax my breath into the darkness of my rib cage And invite it to fan open Maybe I would say something like, "One day, I would like to fall in love with you," And here I pause while the tears that have been threatening to rain down all day swell high in my chest, blurring my vision "One day, I would like to fall in love with you," I will start writing again, & continue, "wherever you are, whoever you are, but in this moment, I will fall in love with me." My brow furls ever so slightly, because that is not what I expected to say I pause again & allow the container to soften, for the edges to get blurry And the tears, one by one spill over And all the holding of the day crumples away And I am me again & you are you again, too

I wanted to get the tears out of the way so I could act sensibly.

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

I want to be done with tears, and the day is too beautiful for them anyway. Nevertheless, I consider my tears for a moment, the idea of them, a link to the earth’s ancient origins. I’m comforted by the notion that I carry a bit of the sea within myself wherever I go. It’s nice to think that water is not such an exotic thing after all.

I turned back looking far away not making contact with anyone and I paced to my room with tears in my eyes, solitude in my heart and nuisance in my mind. I locked my door, rested in bed and slept while still desperate.

It will not change now After so many years; Life has not broken it With parting or tears; Death will not alter it, It will live on In all my songs for you When I am gone.

I wanted to see her sad. Taste her tears. I wanted to know what she sounded like when she cried. In pain, in pleasure, in both.

I want out of this place. With no reminders." It stings - sulphur tears in cinnamon rain.

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 scared of losing you, living my life without you but You left!

I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer today.