#sorrow

Not sorry, not calling, not crying All will pass like smoke of white apple trees Seized by the gold of autumn, I will no longer be young. ↗

— Sergei Yesenin

#life-changing #russian-poetry #sorrow #change

Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are, have their origins in the ecstasies which might have been. ↗

— Edgar Allan Poe's "Berenice"

#contemplative #edgar-allan-poe #inspirational #interesting #philosophical

Those who do not weep, do not see. ↗

— Victor Hugo

#inspirational #sorrow #inspirational

You cannot stop the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can stop them nesting in your hair. ↗

— Eva Ibbotson

#mourning #sorrow #inspirational

He that is thy friend indeed, he will help thee in thy need: if thou sorrow, he will weep; if you wake, he cannot sleep; thus of every grief in heart he with thee doth bear a part. ↗

— Richard Barnfield

#cannot #doth #every #friend #grief

So that godly sorrow may be discerned by this train of graces wherewith it is accompanied, that worldly sorrow wants, at least in the truth of them, though it may have some shadows of them. ↗

— Thomas Hooker

#discerned #godly #graces #least #may

To my lovely starling, Maybe there are magical words that will make you understand, but if so, I do not know them. Words are your domain. I've always been better with pictures. I fear you think I am a monster. It's true I've disrupted many graves. The way I see it, the dead are dead. If, after their death, we can learn things from the about the human form - things that will increase the sum of human knowledge and the possibilities of art - what harm is that? After death, new life, new beauty. How can that be wrong? My friends and I have made use of some of the bodies as models. some we sell to surgeons who study them with the hopes of learning something about the frail mechanisms of the human body. I don't know exactly what Dottor de Gradi does in his workshop on the Rialto, and I was as surprised as you were to stumble on it. He couldn't - he wouldn't tell me if your friend's body ended up there. But he did assure me all of his work is focused solely on extending human life. I won't lie. I did it for the money as well. Don Loredan is holding a private exhibition in his palazzo tomorrow. The entry fee was quite steep but two of my paintings were accepted. This could be the beginning for me. I could find my own patrons. I could be more than just a peasant. Tommaso's assistant. So yes; a little for money. But mostly I did for the art. I don't expect these words to change how you feel. I simply want you not to see me as a monster. I don't want to be a monster. Not anymore. Not after meeting you. I know that we disrupted you dear friend's body, and for that I am deeply regretful. But if we had not done so, if I had not lingered in the San Domenico churchyard after standing guard for my friends, you and I might never have met. Meeting you is one thing I will never regret. I hope you like the painting. Consider tit a wedding gift. How stupid of me to let my heart go. It was a lovely fantasy while it lasted, though, wasn't it? Yours, Falco ↗

— Fiona Paul

#body-snatching #cassandra-caravello #falco #letter #liviana

Go, forget me - why should sorrow, O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me - and tomorrow, brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile - though I shall not be near thee; Sing - though I shall never hear thee. ↗

— Charles Wolfe

#brow #fling #forget #go #hear

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that came down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien ↗

— J.R.R. Tolkien

#joy #light #luthien #lúthien #shadow

I watch my loved ones weep with sorrow, death's silent torment of no tomorrow. I feel their hearts breaking, I sense their despair, United in misery, the grief that they share. How do I show that, I am not gone... but the essence of life's everlasting song Why do they wee? Why do they cry? I'm alive in the wind and I am soaring high. I am sparkling light dancing on streams, a moment of warmth in the fays of sunbeams. The coolness of rain as it falls on your face, the whisper of leaves as wind rushes with haste. Eternal Song, a requiem by Avian of Celieria from Crown of Crystal Flame by C.L. Wilson ↗

— C.L. Wilson

#passing #sad #sorrow #death