Best 1677 quotes in «tears quotes» category

If you are going through hell, keep walking until you reach heaven.

If you choose to be sad then you will be sad but there times you don't know why you're sad. Tears start flowing from your eyes.

If you can weep with your words, the meaning of your heart can be written forever

If you can write, paint, or compose without fear, pain, tears or questions, then you are either very blessed or very bland.

If you really truly want to know, I've thought if I was ever free someday, I might discover I've held my tears so long that I can't cry anymore, that I'm a dry stone and nothing can ever be wrung from me.

If you’re the kind of person who does not like to read about suffering and bloodshed and tears, why don’t you just pretend the day did end there, and close this book right now? On the other hand, if you’re the kind of person who does like reading about suffering and bloodshed and tears, may I politely ask… well, what is wrong with you?

If your tears have lost the ability to hide your pain... why shedding them?

...I gave you painted air - tears I couldn't weep - truths I couldn't speak - all the words that caught in my throat...

I grab the pillows off the bed and chuck them at the reflection in the mirror of the girl I no longer know. I watch as the girl in the mirror stares back at me, sobbing pathetically. The weakness in her tears infuriates me.

I had a long time To cry And it took me By surprise That these days I am crying for you

I guess that’s how well you know me. You think I like hearing this news.” “I’m sorry. This is selfish. I just need to tell someone … outside my life. Get it out of my head, to keep from going nuts, but somewhere safe.” She sees me as safe? This brings tears to my eyes. “I trust you, Clem. Are you pissed?

I had feared that if I opened the floodgates I would drown. But as the waves crashed over me, I was not consumed, I was swept up, washed, my soul blanketed with blessed relief.

I have cried over myself a hundred times this summer, she thought, I have wept over my big feet and my skinny legs and my nose, I have even cried over my stupid shoes, and now when I have true sadness there are no tears left.

I had survived the work gangs in the ghetto. Baked bread under cover of night. Hidden in a pigeon coop. Had a midnight bar mitzvah in the basement of an abandoned building. I had watched my parents be taken away to their deaths, had avoided Amon Goeth and his dogs, had survived the salt mines of Wieliczka and the sick games of Trzebinia. I had done so much to live, and now, here, the Nazis were going to take all that away with their furnace! I started to cry, the first tears I had shed since Moshe died. Why had I worked so hard to survive if it was always going to end like this? If I had known, I wouldn't have bothered. I would have let them kill me back in the ghetto. It would have been easier that way. All that I had done was for nothing.

I hate tears, it makes it easy to forget someone.

i have laughed more than daffodils and cried more than June.

I know the answer to improving Jess's condition doesn't lay in tears the answer is in sweat.

I have nothing to hide except for the fact i'm broken inside.

I have shed many tears.

I hit my chest with my fist, accusing my body of failing. I’ve had eighty years to adjust and never have. Am I broken? We’ll start there. No. You’re not broken. You are possibly the most loyal and faithful siren I’ve ever had. So, one of the best? Is it bad to tell You that I don’t really want to be good at this job? She swirled around my face and hair, trying to console me. No one with a beating heart could enjoy killing their own. I’m not human, I argued. I’m less than that. Kahlen, my sweet girl, you are still human. Your body may be unchanging, but your soul still bends and sways. I assure you, in the deepest part of yourself, you are still connected to humanity. I kept crying, my tears joining Her waves. Then why can’t I cope with any human contact? Elizabeth has had her lovers. As have many a siren before her. It’s not surprising, considering how beautiful you are. If it’s so typical, then why can’t I do that? She laughed, a motherly sound in my head, as if She knew me better than I knew myself. Because you and Elizabeth are very different people. She’s looking for passion and excitement. In her dark world, those interludes are like fireworks. You long for relationships, for love. It’s why you protect your sisters so fiercely, why you always return to Me even when I don’t call, and why you mourn so heavily at taking lives.

I lived my grief; I slept mourning and ate sorrow and drank tears. I ignored all else.

I have shed many tears. I have been broken in my spirit. But through it all, God's grace have lifted my soul.

I knew that the tears of adults were wetter, saltier, and much, much sadder than those of a child

I live in a place of tears.

I love you, Esmeralda,” he said. “I love you, too,” she whispered back, and he couldn’t help smiling. At least he would die with those words in his ears.

i love good cries, loud sobs that soak your pillow that kind that come at the end of a perfect book you're gasping for air as droplets of salt water trickle down your cheeks into the corners of your mouth as your chest rises and falls and your vision is blurred by the tears but your mind is so clear and your every thought in that moment feels so meaningful and important and right it feels okay to just let it all out it makes you feel like you are free

I love you dad More than you'll ever know I know you'll be in heaven as a shining star No matter how faraway you go You are never too far

I love your loins, that's all,' Rachel says quietly. 'And now I love the word itself, and how words change, I love that too. And all the parts of you, I love them. That's all. And I'm not sad,' she whispers, gasping a little at the shock of her own tears, hot and extravagant, tears that catch the light in her lashes before they drop and roll across Zach's thighs, sparkling capsules, kaleidoscopic, the flow dynamic.

In tears, we labour for what we want.

I may not have wings, but my hands do a better job in wiping away the tears anyway.

I'm too heartbroken to shed tears.

In a dark silent room I sit all alone Feeling only the pain and With uncontrollable tears The floral bed sheets I'm covered in Fails to offer the warmth and comfort I’m trapped Underneath the blankets Screaming and tormenting I'm passing the nights

In all that I saw, I was satisfied, for I could dance in the drops of water, laugh with the laps of joyous tears, and sing to the songs of streaming senses.

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 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.

I'm as provocative of tears as an onion!

I miss that smile covered with the tears of longing.

In suffering, the soul cries out!

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

I regret all the prayers that do not shed tears.

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.

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 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 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.

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.