547 Sadness Quotes

If they had said that the sun or the moon had gone out of the heavens, it could not have struck me with the idea of a more awful and dreary blank in creation than the words: 'Byron is dead!'

Dying is the most embarrassing thing that can ever happen to you, because someone's got to take care of all your details.

So long as there is death there will be sorrow, and so long as there is sorrow it can be no part of the duty of human beings to increase its amount, in spite of the fact that a few rare spirits know how to transmute it.

My blessed California, you are so wise. You render death abstract, efficient, clean. Your afterlife is only real estate, And in his kingdom Death must stay unseen.

What we conceal Is always more than what we dare confide. Think of the letters that we write our dead.

I feel eternal pain for those who were killed by Hitler, but I feel no less pain for those killed on Stalin's orders. I suffer for everyone who was tortured, shot, or starved to death.

The death then of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.

Widows tend either to fade away when husbands die, committing emotional suttee, or else find that a new life burgeons. Here in Christchurch, a lot of burgeoning goes on.

I spent my childhood alone, overweight and ugly, angry at everything, and knowing nothing of a life beyond this sadness.

And I know you're frightened By my laughter But you're not afraid To hold my pain You see I'm never sure Just what you're after, Babe But it seems you only love me When it rains. How come you only love me when it rains?

Half of the secular unrest and dismal, profane sadness of modern society comes from the vain ideas that every man is bound to be a critic for life.

It's like having a pet dog for a long time. You get attached to it, and when it dies you miss it.

Two evils, monstrous either one apart, Possessed me, and were long and loath at going: A cry of Absence, Absence, in the heart, And in the wood the furious winter blowing.

Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! There's naught in this life sweet But only melancholy; O sweetest melancholy!

A person likes to think of himself in a certain way, and when something happens that makes that no longer possible, you mourn the old self. The person you thought you were.

Pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy.

Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child's loss of a doll and a king's loss of a crown are events of the same size.

Fate gave, what Chance shall not control, His sad lucidity of soul.

The main thing in one's own private world is to try to laugh as much as you cry.

It's true that I wouldn't have written the first book had my sister and mother been alive. It was my way of continuing our conversation. It's also this Jewish thing of naming and remembering people, and I think there is a sense of keeping that side of life going.

At first he thought he felt bad because he was afraid of leading an army, but it wasn't true. He knew he'd make a good commander. He felt himself wanting to cry. He hadn't cried since the first few days of homesickness after he got here. He tried to put a name on the feeling that put a lump in his throat and made him sob silently, however much he tried to hold it down. He bit down on his hand to stop the feeling, to replace it with pain. It didn't help.

For he loved her, as you can only love someone who is an echo of yourself at your time of deepest sorrow.

Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength.

Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire.

Peace is in the grave. The grave hides all things beautiful and good. I am a God and cannot find it there, Nor would I seek it; for, though dread revenge, This is defeat, fierce king, not victory.

The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.

Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.

Oh, when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight?

The light has gone out of my life.

That tuft of jungle feathers, That animal eye, Is just what you say. That savage of fire, That seed, Have it your way. The world is ugly, And the people are sad.

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal - every other affliction to forget: but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open - this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude.

Because of all this, I am at a loss to know whether to weep more for those they killed or those that are captured: or indeed for these men themselves whom the devil has taken fast for his slaves. In truth, they will bind themselves alongside him in the pains of the everlasting pit: for 'he who sins is a slave already' and is to be called 'son of the devil.'

Tell him I lingered alone on the shore, Where we parted, in sorrow, to meet nevermore; The night-wind blew cold on my desolate heart But colder those wild words of doom,-'Ye must part.'

O fathering friend and scientist of good, Who in solitude, one bygone summer's day, And in the throes of bodily anguish, passed away From dream and conflict and research-lit lands Of ethnological learning, - even as you stood Selfless and ardent, resolute and gay, So in this hour, in strange survival stands Your ghost, whom I am powerless to repay.

Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay.

All up and down the whole creation, Sadly I roam, Still longing for the old plantation, And for the old folks at home.

All the world is sad and dreary, Everywhere I roam.

Itaque ne mortuo quidem perinde adfectus est, sed tantum non statim a funere ad negotiorum consuetudinem rediit iustitio longiore inhibito. Quin et Iliensium legatis paulo serius consolantibus, quasi obliterata iam doloris memoria, irridens se quoque respondit vicem eorum dolere, quod egregium civem Hectorem amisissent.

What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe.

No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred; Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. A favourite has no friend!

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now you are not as you were When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair.

That Elizabeth-Jane Farfrae be not told of my death, or made to grieve on account of me. And that I be not bury'd in consecrated ground. And that no sexton be asked to toll the bell. And that nobody is wished to see my dead body. And that no murners walk behind me at my funeral. And that no flours be planted on my grave. And that no man remember me.

One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly Young, and so fair!

Tried myself in the school of affliction, by the loss of every form of connection which can rive the human heart, I know well, and feel what you have lost, what you have suffered, are suffering, and have yet to endure. The same trials have taught me that for ills so immeasurable, time and silence are the only medicines. I will not, therefore, by useless condolences, open afresh the sluices of your grief, nor, although mingling sincerely my tears with yours, will I say a word more where words are vain.

From thousands of our undone widows One may derive some wit.

Oh! ever thus from childhood's hour I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nurst a dear gazelle To glad me with its soft black eye But when it came to know me well And love me it was sure to die!

Louisiana rain now is falling just like tears. Running down my face washing out the years.

See I loved you like a sista/but you died to quick/And that's why we called U bitch, I betcha.

How many brothas fell victim to tha streetz/Rest in peace young nigga, there's a Heaven for a 'G'

For they could not love you, but still your love was true And when no hope was left in sight, on that starry starry night You took your life as lovers often do, But I could have told you, Vincent, This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

The odds on any intelligent person having an unhappy childhood are better than fair, and the odds on a sad ending are practically off the board.

For a tear is an intellectual thing, And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King, And the bitter groan of the martyr's woe Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.

Some may have blamed you that you took away The verses that could move them on the day When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind With lightning, you went from me, and I could find Nothing to make a song about but kings, Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things That were like memories of you--but now We'll out, for the world lives as long ago; And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit, Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit. But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone, My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.

'Mrs. Sandoval,' Homer said swiftly, 'your son is dead. Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe it wasn't your son. Maybe it was somebody else. The telegram says it was Juan Domingo. But maybe the telegram is wrong.'

I hear the little children of the wind Crying solitary in lonely places.

For seldom shall she hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true.

He lived amidst th'untrodden ways To Rydal Lake that lead:- A bard whom there were none to praise, And very few to read. Behind a cloud his mystic sense, Deep-hidden, who can spy? Bright as the night, when not a star Is shining in the sky. Unread his works - his 'Milk-white Doe' With dust is dark and dim; It's still in Longman's shop, and Oh! The difference to him!

My suffering had left me sad and gloomy.

Ah done been in sorrow's kitchen and Ah done licked out all de pots. Ah done died in grief and been buried in de bitter waters, and Ah done rose agin from de dead lak Lazarus.

But, as it is, this pied collection begs your indulgence - it's been spun from threads both sad and humoristic, themes popular or idealistic, products of carefree hours, of fun, of sleeplessness, faint inspirations, of powers unripe, or on the wane, of reason's icy intimations, and records of a heart in pain.

Mosalsky: Good folk! Maria Godunov and her son Feodor have poisoned themselves. We have seen their dead bodies. [The People are silent with horror.] Why are ye silent? Cry, Long live the Tsar Dimitry Ivanovich! [The People are speechless.]

Cease, gentle Maid, cease, cease to grieve, Thy Goddess does thy Pray'rs receive, And Providence will Thee relieve. Those, who on Providence depend, And patiently its Will attend, Shall be rewarded in the End, By Ways and Means least thought upon, That Mortals may be forc'd to own Their Help comes from the Gods alone.

A lost love. Deny it who will, ridicule it, treat it as mere imagination and sentiment, the thing is and will be; and women do suffer therefrom, in all its infinite varieties: loss by death, by faithlessness or unworthiness, and by mistaken or unrequited affection. ~ Ch. 10

There is no sorrow under heaven which is, or ought to be, endless. To believe or to make it so, is an insult to Heaven itself. ~ Ch. 10

Forgotten? No, we never do forget: We let the years go; wash them clean with tears, Leave them to bleach out in the open day, Or lock them careful by, like dead friends' clothes, Till we shall dare unfold them without pain, - But we forget not, never can forget.

It's so relieving to know that you're leaving as soon as you get paid It's so relaxing to hear you're asking wherever you get your way. It's so soothing to know that you'll sue me, This is starting to sound the same. I miss the comfort in being sad.

If I may, and if I might Lay me down, weeping.

I hate Mom. I hate Dad. Dad hates Mom. Mom hates Dad. It just makes you want to be so sad.(1976)(Kurt scratched this into the wall of his bedroom in 1976 after his parents had a fight.)

I still dream about Kurt. Every time I see him in a dream, I'll be amazed and I get this feeling that everyone else thinks he's dead. It always feels totally real, probably because I'm a very vivid dreamer. But, in my dreams, Kurt's usually been hiding - we'll get together and I'll end up asking him, 'God, where have you been?'

You know, I always thought I'd go first. I don't know why I thought that, it just seemed like I would. I mean, I didn't know him on a daily basis - far from it. But, in a way, I don't even feel right being here without him. It's so difficult to really believe he's gone. I still talk about him like he's still here, you know. I can't figure it out. It doesn't make any sense.

Kurt Cobain was so young Sad to see this poet's gone.

Y hoy me encuentro tan solo y triste cual hoja al viento quisiera llorar, quisiera morir, como Kurt Cobain, de sentimiento. (And today I am so alone and sad like a leaf in the wind I wish to cry, I wish to die like Kurt Cobain, of feeling)

... if he was a good man, how could he leave me? So he must not be a good man. But if he isn't good, then why does it hurt so much to lose him? -Enchantment

'I thank God for happiness AND sadness... if you're never sad you'll never know how good happiness is' - SRK

'God created this world with a moral design. Grief, tragedy and hatred are only for a time. Goodness, remembrance, and love have no end.'

He was magnificent, and I will never forget that in that moment, I first loved him. And I never stopped loving him. I do now and always will. No one ever brought me more sorrow or pain or joy than he did. No, nothing, not even my sons, has ever outweighed the love I feel and still feel for him. And I believe - had I known what the future held for us: all the trouble, torment, battle, and grief of our lives - I still believe that I would have yielded my heart into his keeping as I did then

I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey Lady Stardust sang his songs Of darkness and dismay

A Grave - is a restricted Breadth - Yet ampler than the Sun - And all the Seas He populates And lands he looks upon To Him who on its small Repose Bestows a single Friend - Circumference without Relief - Or Estimate - or End

Laura and I have come to Blacksburg today with hearts full of sorrow. This is a day of mourning for the Virginia Tech community -- and it is a day of sadness for our entire nation. We've come to express our sympathy. In this time of anguish, I hope you know that people all over this country are thinking about you, and asking God to provide comfort for all who have been affected. Yesterday began like any other day. Students woke up, and they grabbed their backpacks and they headed for class. And soon the day took a dark turn, with students and faculty barricading themselves in classrooms and dormitories -- confused, terrified, and deeply worried. By the end of the morning, it was the worst day of violence on a college campus in American history -- and for many of you here today, it was the worst day of your lives. It's impossible to make sense of such violence and suffering. Those whose lives were taken did nothing to deserve their fate. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they're gone -- and they leave behind grieving families, and grieving classmates, and a grieving nation.

I was very saddened by the death of Ingmar Bergman. He was a friend and certainly the greatest film artist of my lifetime. ... He told me that he was afraid that he would die on a very, very sunny day and I can only hope it was overcast and he got the weather he wanted

When they carried Jack in, Hill threw his coat over Jack's head, and I held his head to throw the coat over it. It wasn't repulsive to me for one moment - nothing was repulsive to me -

The ring was all blood-stained... so I put the ring on Jack's finger... and then I kissed his hand...

Hello, I am Wanda June. Today was going to be my birthday, but I was hit by an ice-cream truck before I could have my party. I am dead now. I am in Heaven. That is why my parents did not pick up my cake at the bakery. I am not mad at the ice-cream truck driver, even though he was drunk when he hit me. It didn't hurt much. It wasn't even as bad as the sting of a bumblebee. I am really happy here! It's so much fun. I'm glad the driver was drunk. If he hadn't been, I might not have gone to Heaven for years and years and years. I would have had to go to high school first, and then beauty college. I would have had to get married and have babies and everything. Now I can just play and play and play. Any time I want any pink cotton candy I can have some. Everybody up here is happy - the animals and the dead soldiers and people who went to the electric chair and everything. They're all glad for whatever sent them here. Nobody is mad. We're all too busy playing shuffleboard. So if you think of killing somebody, don't worry about it. Just go ahead and do it. Whoever you do it to should kiss you for doing it. The soldiers up here just love the shrapnel and the tanks and the bayonets and the dum dums that let them play shuffleboard all the time - and drink beer.

the color of the sky as far as I can see is coal gray lift my head from the pillow and then fall again with a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather a quiver in my lips as if I might cry

o, I need the darkness the sweetness the sadness the weakness I need this

'I guess I'll call it sickness gone' - 'Ambulance Blues', referring to the drug related death of bandmate Danny Whitten

I don't mind dying before you do. In fact, I rather prefer it that way

Everything I ever felt myself to be a part of is dead

Something had been given back to him. And because [she] had been a part of it, there was something between them now. A bond of loss, if loss could bind