Category Archives: SORROW AND SADNESS

“The error of one moment becomes the sorrow of a whole life” – Chinese

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“Have you ever felt despair? Absolute hopelessness? Have you ever stood in the darkness and known, deep in your heart, in your spirit, that it was never, ever going to get better? That something had been lost, forever, and that it wasn’t coming back?”

― Jim Butcher, Storm Front

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Three things cause sorrow to flee; water, green trees, and a beautiful face. ~Morocco.

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So if you see someone like me

Who’s drunk and loud and cursing

Don’t judge too hard, you never know

What sorrows we are nursing.

Ali Cobby Eckermann. little bit long time

http://www.emsah.uq.edu.au/awsr/new_site/awbr_archive/147/Cobby.htm

There should be those among whom we can sit and weep and still be counted as warriors. Native American.

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I have spent too long
telling the world the world is the world
and poetry is made of language.
Today on the Bedford platform, I began
the great poem: weeping openly on the public
telephone—the way some were staring
as they swirled past, the way some
weren’t—yes: it was truth
at last.

—Jan Zwicky

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one of my favourite poems

LES MURRAY

An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow

The word goes round Repins,
the murmur goes round Lorenzinis,
at Tattersalls, men look up from sheets of numbers,
the Stock Exchange scribblers forget the chalk in their hands
and men with bread in their pockets leave the Greek Club:
There’s a fellow crying in Martin Place. They can’t stop him.

The traffic in George Street is banked up for half a mile
and drained of motion. The crowds are edgy with talk
and more crowds come hurrying. Many run in the back streets
which minutes ago were busy main streets, pointing:
There’s a fellow weeping down there. No one can stop him.

The man we surround, the man no one approaches
simply weeps, and does not cover it, weeps
not like a child, not like the wind, like a man
and does not declaim it, nor beat his breast, nor even
sob very loudly—yet the dignity of his weeping

holds us back from his space, the hollow he makes about him
in the midday light, in his pentagram of sorrow,
and uniforms back in the crowd who tried to seize him
stare out at him, and feel, with amazement, their minds
longing for tears as children for a rainbow.

Some will say, in the years to come, a halo
or force stood around him. There is no such thing.
Some will say they were shocked and would have stopped him
but they will not have been there. The fiercest manhood,
the toughest reserve, the slickest wit amongst us

trembles with silence, and burns with unexpected
judgements of peace. Some in the concourse scream
who thought themselves happy. Only the smallest children
and such as look out of Paradise come near him
and sit at his feet, with dogs and dusty pigeons.

Ridiculous, says a man near me, and stops
his mouth with his hands, as if it uttered vomit—
and I see a woman, shining, stretch her hand
and shake as she receives the gift of weeping;
as many as follow her also receive it

and many weep for sheer acceptance, and more
refuse to weep for fear of all acceptance,
but the weeping man, like the earth, requires nothing,
the man who weeps ignores us, and cries out
of his writhen face and ordinary body

not words, but grief, not messages, but sorrow,
hard as the earth, sheer, present as the sea—
and when he stops, he simply walks between us
mopping his face with the dignity of one
man who has wept, and now has finished weeping.

Evading believers, he hurries off down Pitt Street.
from
The Weatherboard Cathedral, 1969

http://www.lesmurray.org/pm_aor.htm

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“There is an old German fable about porcupines who need to huddle together for warmth, but are in danger of hurting each other with their spines

When they find the optimum distance to share each other’s warmth without putting each other’s eyes out, their state of contrived cooperation is called good manners. Well, those old German fabulists certainly knew a thing or two. When you acknowledge other people politely, the signal goes out, “I’m here. You’re there. I’m staying here. You’re staying there. Aren’t we both glad we sorted that out?” When people don’t acknowledge each other politely, the lesson from the porcupine fable is unmistakeable. “Freeze or get stabbed, mate. It’s your choice.”

― Lynne Truss, Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door

redfoxstoryofhis00robeuoft_0161 The Register (Adelaide, SA - 1901 - 1929), Saturday 26 April 1913

 

The Register (Adelaide, SA : 1901 – 1929), Saturday 26 April 1913

Better a handful of dry dates and content therewith than to own the gate of Peacocks and be kicked in the eye by a broody camel.

 

 

http://bijlmakers.com/agriculture/fruits-proverbs-and-quotes/Fotor013117433

 

When far across the desert
Shines the first hint of light,
And scarce the sun has banished one
Clear star away from night;
With bales and packs and boxes
Lashed on securely, then,
The lengthy trains of camels
Prepare to start again.

Camels poem by Rex Ingamells

http://www.instituteofaustralianculture.com/camel

s-rex-ingamells/

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Sunday 1Times (Perth, WA - 1902 - 1954), Sunday 7 May 1933, Sunday Times (Perth, WA - 1902 - 1954), Sunday 7 May 1933,2

 

Sunday Times (Perth, WA : 1902 – 1954), Sunday 7 May 1933,

“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

IZZY FOREAL IN THE LIGHT

LEE EMMETT

ILLUMINATION

through shadows of deep sorrow
small light shines with hope
one by one stars appear
widening life’s scope

within space of moments
see boundless heavenly treasure
heart oppressed by lonely fear
opens to endless pleasure

extend inner eye beyond
selfish focus narrow
radiant force appreciate 

http://www.voicesnet.org/displayonepoem.aspx?poemid=130125

The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. It weeps for distant things…”

– Garcia Lorca

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People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands – literally thousands – of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss.” 

― Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

If it weren’t for sorrow and bad times, every day would be Christmas.

Lithuanian

http://www.inspirationalstories.com/proverbs/t/on-christmas/

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A little bush fairy on the Christmas tree!
Tho’ not like the fairies you usually see,
For she wears not a gauzy gossamer gown
but gumnut blossoms drifting down.

And there on top of her pine tree tower
she waves a wand of flannel flower.
Flittering and fluttering her eucalyptus wings
‘Neath a halo of golden wattle rings.

What other fairy would be so blessed
Or be, by nature, flora dressed?
What other fairy would look so sweet
With bottle brushes on her feet?

At Christmas she comes come-what-may
Tho’ not to those lands far away,
For only in Australia will you ever see
A little bush fairy on the Christmas tree!

http://tww.id.au/christmas/bush.fairy.html

We have combined, by a freely adopted decision, for the purpose of fighting the enemy, and not of retreating into the neighbouring marsh

http://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/quotes.htm

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“He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard. Anne took the memory of it with her when she went to her room that night and sat for a long while at her open window, thinking of the past and dreaming of the future. Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine; the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope. Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.”
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

It all depends on whose ox is gored

Your view of the justness of the outcome of a dispute depends on which side you are on and the degree of personal loss you have suffered.

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THE BLACK OX HAS NOT TROD ON HIS FOOT”

He is inexperienced, has not known sorrow or care.

http://www.deproverbio.com/display.php?a=3&r=43

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

— Kahlil Gibran

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“I want a life that sizzles and pops and makes me laugh out loud. And I don’t want to get to the end, or to tomorrow, even, and realize that my life is a collection of meetings and pop cans and errands and receipts and dirty dishes. I want to eat cold tangerines and sing out loud in the car with the windows open and wear pink shoes and stay up all night laughing and paint my walls the exact colour of the sky right now. I want to sleep hard on clean white sheets and throw parties and eat ripe tomatoes and read books so good they make me jump up and down, and I want my everyday to make God belly laugh, glad that he gave life to someone who loves the gift.”

― Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday Life

When suffering knocks at your door and you say there is no seat for him, he tells you not to worry because he has brought his own stool.”

― Chinua Achebe

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“I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be this lonely because it seems catastrophic.”

― Augusten Burroughs, Dry

Joy and sorrow are the light and shade of life; without light and shade no picture is clear.

http://www.1world1way.com/coach/quotes_islamic_wisdom.html

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Many a time have I merely closed my eyes at the end of yet another troublesome day and soaked my bruised psyche in wild water, rivers remembered and rivers imagined. Rivers course through my dreams, rivers cold and fast, rivers well-known and rivers nameless, rivers that seem like ribbons of blue water twisting through wide valleys, narrow rivers folded in layers of darkening shadows, rivers that have eroded down deep into the mountain’s belly, sculpted the land, peeled back the planet’s history exposing the texture of time itself. — (Harry Middleton, On the Spine of Time or Rivers of Memory)

The sorrow which has no vent in tears may make other organs weep.

~Henry Maudsley

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“When someone is crying, of course, the noble thing to do is to comfort them. But if someone is trying to hide their tears, it may also be noble to pretend you do not notice them.”
― Lemony Snicket, Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can’t Avoid

 

nor have the dreary years of absence in the smallest degree effaced from my mind the image of the dear untitled man to whom I gave my heart.”

Abigail Adams to John Adams, December, 1782

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“Daniel was very like a child in all the parts of his character. He was strongly affected by whatever was present, and apt to forget the absent. He acted on impulse, and too often had reason to be sorry for it; but he hated his sorrow too much to let it teach him wisdom for the future.”

― Elizabeth Gaskell, Sylvia’s Lovers

May you walk gently through the world and know its beauty all the days of your life.

~ Apache Prayer

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“Contrary to what a lot of people believe (or hope), comfort doesn’t take the pain away. Comfort slides in beside the pain, pulling up a chair so that we have something more than sorrow in our hearts. Comfort gently expands our spirits so that we can breathe again. Comfort opens our eyes so that we can see possibility again.

And on those days, whether it is the next day or five years removed, on that day when grief rears its dark head again, comfort helps us remember that pain is not all there is”

― Peggy Haymes, Strugglers, Stragglers and Seekers: daily devotions for the rest of us

“I’ve learned that from a war ignited by revenge, nothing can be born, but sorrow.

– Aladdin” ― Shinobu Ohtaka

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To see an enemy humiliated gives a certain contentment, but this is jejune compared with the highly bent satisfaction of seeing him humiliated by your benevolent action or concession on his behalf. That is the sort of revenge which falls into the scale of virtue.

GEORGE ELIOT, The Mill on the Floss

Days of wine and roses laugh and run away, Like a child at play.

Johnny Mercer (1909-1976) Days of Wine and Roses

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“There was an ache in his heart like the farewell to a dear woman; there was a vague sorrow in him like the despair of autumn. He walked past the restaurants he used to smell with interest, and no appetite was aroused in him. He walked by Madam Zuca’s great establishment, and exchanged no obscene jests with the girls in the windows. Back to the wharf he went. He leaned over the rail and looked into the deep, deep water. Do you know, Danny, how the wine of your life is pouring into the fruit jars of the gods? Do you see the procession of your days in the oily water among the piles? He remained motionless, staring down.”

― John Steinbeck

“A life that is burdened with expectations is a heavy life. Its fruit is sorrow and disappointment.”

― Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

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Why not go out on a limb?
Isn’t that where the fruit is?
– Mark Twain

Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.”

― Emily Brontë

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/here-there-and-everywhere/201211/50-quotes-pride

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“You are dark, even as the flints are. You must come to violent conflicts and make a noise in order to produce your sparks. But their disconnected flashes merely assist your pride, and not your clear vision.”

 
― Rabindranath Tagore, The Home and the World

Nothing can relieve the pain. Not crying, laughing, screaming, begging. Nothing can change the past.”

― Tabitha Suzuma, Forbidden

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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

Proverbs 23:29-30 – Drinking causes woe, sorrow, fighting, babbling, wounds without cause and red eyes.

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“I sit here
drunk now.
I am
a series of
small victories
and large defeats
and I am as
amazed
as any other
that
I have gotten
from there to
here
without committing murder
or being
murdered;
without
having ended up in the
madhouse.

as I drink alone
again tonight
my soul despite all the past
agony
thanks all the gods
who were not
there
for me
then.”
Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last