Sadness Quotes - Page 4

Not all scars show, not all wounds heal. Often we don't see, the pain someone feels.A broken heart is like having broken ribs.No one can see but hurts everytime you breathe.

Oh, Mercédès, I have spoken your name with sighs of melancholy, with groans of pain and with the croak of despair. I have spoken it frozen with cold, huddled on the straw of my dungeon. I have spoken it raging with heat and rolling around on the stone floor of my prison. Mercédès, I must have my revenge, because for fourteen years I suffered, fourteen years I wept and cursed. Now, I say to you, Mercédès, I must have my revenge!

To have loved, to have lost and to be so empty when love is forgotten and not shared is an empty heart that's always whispering "fill me"~bns

He didn't understand how sadness came so easily to people. For him it was like a pile of rocks that had to be moved one at a time. Just thinking about it made him tired.

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." I'd like to show how "intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members" connects with "the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age." I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." I've never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I've entered my story, I need them more than ever.

Sometimesthe things that make you cryare more beautifulthan the thingsthat make you laugh.

Everything that drowned me taught me how to swim.

I don’t think you ever really understood….…. All the love I had in the world went to you.

And inside, inside I feel a dark chasm. And its getting wider, deeper. It’s breaking my heart apart more and more. The chasm is filling up. Filling up with gallons and gallons tears. Tears that were unshed, but piled up. And the endless supply of hurt, anger, and sadness grew and grew. And now its going to burst out. The tears will empty from the chasm, and fall out as a stream from my blood shot eyes. And the chasm will expand, and expand and it will be too much for my small heart that can only take so much. And my heart will crack in two. But no one will know. No one will know the about the expanding chasms, or the gallons of tears, because I will appear fine on the outside. I will keep pretending. Even though inside I’m crying, and I’m breaking in two.

Some people appear to be happy, but they simply don't give the matter much thought. Others make plans: I'm going to have a husband, a home, two children, a house in the country. As long as they're busy doing that, they're like bulls looking for the bullfighter: they react instinctively, they blunder on, with no idea where the target is. They get their car, sometimes they even get a Ferrari, and they think that's the meaning of life, and they never question it. Yet their eyes betray the sadness that even they don't know they carry in their soul. Are you happy?

She touched her fingertip to his wet face and brought away a tear. Amazed, he did the same. He tasted this river his own eyes had rained."It tastes of salt!" he exclaimed. "It tastes like the sea!""Mine too!" she laughed through her own tears, and he touched and tasted hers as well. "It's as if humans kept a sign of the mother sea in ourselves, a secret token of grief or gladness.

Sadness is like growing of hairs around our ass; we may not like it or want it, but it is surprisingly always there.

Being unhappy alone isn't all that much fun, but what's even tougher is playing one's part without forgetting one's lines, coping with other people's compassion, their comments, being there with the right line when they give the cue.

What is happiness? What is a good life? Is it a life without suffering? Something like that doesn't exist... Life is filled with suffering and sorrow. So it's no wonder that to those who fear suffering, the world seems like a living hell! And still...those who bravely keep going and try to push through this hell... They'll find that it's only a small stretch of the road to happiness. The truly great are those who never lose hope, even when thrown into hell... And as long as we have faith in ourselves, even hell itself can be a paradise!

Every month there is a moon, gigantic, round, heavy, an omen. IT transits, pauses, continues on and passes out of sight, and I see despair coming towards me like famine. To feel that empty, again, again. I listen to my heart, wave upon wave, salty and red, continuing on and on, marking time.

There’s always been sadness hidden at the core of Hitch, but it’s never been big enough to taste. Occasionally, I’d get a whiff of it, salty on the wind, but it never pressed in between us like it does now, threatening to drown us both.

People says it gets easier. People are stupid."-Vlad

This mournful and restless sound was a fit accompaniment to my meditations.

I think there is something beautiful in reveling in sadness. The proof is how beautiful sad songs can be. So I don’t think being sad is to be avoided. It’s apathy and boredom you want to avoid. But feeling anything is good, I think. Maybe that’s sadistic of me.

I can’t get her out of my head

Loving him made me never want to love another human being.

Tina nods sagely and says yes and then something in Plautdietsch, probably something like heck yeah do we ever know what sad is. Sadness is what holds our bones in place.

Chimerical words, the words were written,Some are wasted; some are still on the page,Tattered words, the words were written,Some are young, some are aged,Gloomy words, the words were written,Some are unspoken, some are told,Words were hurt, though they can heal,Words are breathless, though can feel,Words won hearts, words shattered hearts,Words lost battles, words won wars,Wars within, words had scars.

I feel I've lost every part of me...there's nothing left but the parts I've given to you. I need you to hold those pieces together. Please don't forget who I was...then...then there really will be nothing left.

If someone's a racist, punch them in the mouth so they will be sadder, and therefore less likely to stereotype. (Even if Fargas's theory is flawed, on the upside, at least you've punched a racist in the mouth.)

Pain whispersthrough silent wordsentombed in scarsshyly palpablein fleeting glimpsesbriefly allowed

I wish... I wish he wasn't quite so ashamed of me. And if he could stop feeling so ashamed of himself, then maybe we might stand a chance.

We have talked about Suzy and about her last days, but it's as if our lives stopped then and there. If I say anything to him about feeling lonesome, he goes outside and does some little chore. I can't tell if he is secretly blaming me, or himself, or just too full of pain to talk. That was the one thing we could always do together. I wish for the old days. I wish for the struggling days and the days of Geronimo, and the days of birthing Charlie with no one but Jack to help me. How happy and in love we were then. I want to be in love again, but all I feel is darkness and shadows. Everything is changed and different

Somehow, the more I get older, and the more I see of people and sadness and illness and everything, the sorrier I get for everyone.

Perhaps it goes without saying that I believe in the geographic cure. Of course you can't out-travel sadness. You will find it has smuggled itself along in your suitcase. It coats the camera lens, it flavors the local cuisine. In that different sunlight, it stands out, awkward, yours, honking in the brash vowels of your native tongue in otherwise quiet restaurants. You may even feel proud of its stubbornness as it follows you up the bell towers and monuments, as it pants in your ear while you take in the view. I travel not to get away from my troubles but to see how they look in front of famous buildings or on deserted beaches. I take them for walks. Sometimes I get them drunk. Back at home we generally understand each other better.

The money you are looking for is not in any country, phd or your designer outlook, it is in wisdom. Solomon never prayed for wealth but he asked for wisdom.

I yearned for everything long gone.

Our own front door can be a wonderful thing, or a sight we dread; rarely is it only a door.

I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.

We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He made life so sad. We made vague plans to meet in Frisco.

Maria cries unashamedly on my shoulder while I whisper and pet her cheek, but Anastasia grips my other hand and stares fiercely back at our Alexander Palace with her wet blue eyes until it is no more than a lemon-colored speck against the sunrise.

Do you understand the sadness of geography?

I wanted to keep looking at her because I wanted to never take my eyes from her, but still I had tolower my eyes, I was so ashamed that even now Jenny was reading my mind so perfectly.'Listen, that's the only goddamn thing I'm asking, Ollie. Otherwise, I know you'll be okay.' That thing in my gut was stirring again, so I was afraid to even speak the word 'okay.' I justlooked mutely at Jenny.

Regret comes in four tones that operate in unison to shape our lives. First, we regret the life that we lived, the decisions we made, the words we said in anger, and enduring the shame wrought from experiencing painful failures in work and love. Secondly, we regret the life we did not live, the opportunities missed, the adventures postponed indefinitely, and the failure to become someone else other than whom we now are. American author Shannon L. Alder said, ‘One of the greatest regrets in life is being what others would want you to be, rather than being yourself.’ Third, we regret that parts of our life are over; we hang onto nostalgic feelings for the past. When we were young and happy, everything was new, and we had not yet encountered hardship. As we age and encounter painful setbacks, we experience disillusionment and can no longer envision a joyous future. Fourth, we experience bitterness because the world did not prove to be what we hoped or expected it would be.

I don't like romance, I don't like sadness. The sadness motion is negative one... as much you are sad as more deeper you go and you want to return the thing which you can't.

Although we may encounter dark seasons, when we're filled with joy we'll have confident expectations that the sun will soon return and dark clouds will pass.

You still have friends who love you. It does not matter how many you have. All that matters is that someone thinks about you. A friend who cares for you. That is all you need. Do not commit suicide and do not cut just because someone does not say they think about you. I had the same problems until I found out this. Some people do not have anything and are raped and or killed and no one notices because no one cares. You have people. They are just too nervous to confront you. You all have someone who loves you. Do not hide your real self from the world. Let your voice be heard.

There will be peaks of great joy from which to crow and vales of tears out of which to climb. When and why they will happen, no one can say, but they will happen. To all of us. We will all go back and forth from one to the other countless times during a lifetime. This is not some call to bipartisanship between inimical sides. The Happy and the Sad are the same population.

A tree does not despair when its fruit falls to the ground, because it knows in due time, its seeds will rise.

Your smile and your laughter lit my whole world.

I walk out the door with a heavy feeling in my heart as another secret falls on top of it.

It is in the nature of man to want what he does not have. This modern concern for happiness seems a real testimony of its absence.

I walk these lonely streets at dark. Just me and the night; crowded head, empty heart.

The tears coursed down her cheeks- not freely, however, for when they came into contact with her heavily beaded eyelashes they assumed an inky color, and pursued the rest of their way in slow black rivulets.

I feel a sadness I expected and which comes only from myself. I say I’ve always been sad. That I can see the same sadness in photos of myself when I was small. That today, recognizing it as the sadness I’ve always had, I could almost call it by my own name, it’s so like me.

What good is a song that doesn't break your heart?

Letting myself fall wasn't easy. It wasn't hard either. It was a calling that I had to honour. I did honour. I took a plunge into my dark abyss. I faced my grief, my fear, my sadness, my loneliness, my anguish, myself. (Page 78)

Scarce was the verdict spoken,When that still calm was broken,A childish form hath burst into the throng;With tears and looks of sadness,That bring no news of gladness,But tell too surely something hath gone wrong!

I guess to their wide, innocent eyes it all seemed like normal family life because they had never known any different. In fact, I was the only one who had lived with anyone else, the only one that realized that life didn't have to be this terrifying and this painful all the time

Where did you get your sadness from? I picked it up on the side of the road. Itwas bleeding and scratched and keeninglike a mangled thing, but it looked toobeautiful for me to just walk away.

Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will did it. I have no broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong.

Sometimes the man of your dream only belongs in your dream.

Behind these eyesthere is a girl trapped withinher pain – a girl feeling all the emotionsof anger and sadness.She’s fighting for a way out.” (In her eyes, p. 39)

But sleep didn't come. She could hear Jace's soft piano playing through the walls, but that wasn't what was keeping her awake. She was thinking of Simon, leaving for a house that no longer felt like home to him, of the despair in Jace's voice as he said 'I want to hate you', and of Magnus, not telling Jace the truth: that Alec did not want Jace to know about his relationship because he was still in love with him. She thought of the satisfaction it would have brought Magnus to say the words out loud, to acknowledge what the truth was, and the fact that he hadn't said them - had let Alec go on lying and pretending - because that was what Alec wanted, and Magnus cared about Alec enough to give him that. Maybe it was true what the Seelie Queen had said, after all: Love made you a liar.

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.