is time enough to cry oh I when you are hurt.
“Great cry, and little wool, as the Devil said when he sheared the hogs”.
“A picnic. Picture a forest, a country road, a meadow. Cars drive off the country road into the meadow, a group of young people get out carrying bottles, baskets of food, transistor radios, and cameras. They light fires, pitch tents, turn on the music. In the morning they leave. The animals, birds, and insects that watched in horror through the long night creep out from their hiding places. And what do they see? Old spark plugs and old filters strewn around… Rags, burnt-out bulbs, and a monkey wrench left behind… And of course, the usual mess—apple cores, candy wrappers, charred remains of the campfire, cans, bottles, somebody’s handkerchief, somebody’s penknife, torn newspapers, coins, faded flowers picked in another meadow.”
― Arkady Strugatsky, Boris Strugatsky, Roadside Picnic
― Michel Faber, The Crimson Petal and the White
by Henry Lawson
My eyes are dry, I cannot cry,
I’ve got no heart for breakin’,
But where it was in days gone by,
A dull and empty achin’.
My last boy ran away from me,
I know my temper’s wearin’,
But now I only wish to be
Beyond all signs of carin’.
Past wearyin’ or carin’,
Past feelin’ and despairin’;
And now I only wish to be
Beyond all signs of carin’.
– Darina Stoyanova
“Don’t be ashamed to weep; ’tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.”
― Brian Jacques, Taggerung
― Tabitha Suzuma, Forbidden
If a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it,
I should not mind a bit.
but if a friend of mine had a sorrow
and refused to allow me to share it,
I should feel it most bitterly.
If he shut the doors of the house of mourning against me,
I would move back again and again and beg to be admitted
so that I might share in what I was entitled to share.
If he thought me unworthy, unfit to weep with him,
I should feel it as the most poignant humiliation.
– Oscar Wilde
“Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there’s nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don’t know the trick. It’s like whistling or singing.”
― Anne Rice, Memnoch the Devil
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 – 1950), Letters
“Nobody will protect you from your suffering. You can’t cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It’s just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.”
― Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar
― Langston Hughes
A reasonable amount of fleas is good for a dog. They keep him from broodin’ on being a dog.
― Ellen Hopkins, Identical
“Even here is something sad and terrible. But the impression is fleeting, and serves only to give a greater acuteness to the enjoyment of the moment. It is like the sadness which you may see in the jester’s eyes when a merry company is laughing at his sallies; his lips smile and his jokes are gayer because in that communion of laughter he find himself more intolerably alone.”
― W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
by Jeanine Leane, Wagga Wagga, NSW
They keep us locked away like dark secrets.
Never hearing our cries,
never seeing our misery,
never feeling our hunger