Seeing her cry still made me feel the same way it did earlier.
Don't cry over someone who wouldn't cry over you.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
Man cries, his tears dry up and run out. So he becomes a devil, reduced to a monster.
I wondered if emotions were like menstrual cycles, if you get enough women together. Give it time, and everyone was crying.
I believe in evolution in the sense that a short-tempered man is the successor of a crybaby.
Crying is all right in its own way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.
Sometimes I cry in my dreams, and I wake up because my pillow is sopping wet. Was I sobbing in my sleep? Hardly. But I was drooling.?
If you've never eaten while crying you don t know what life tastes like.
I cannot bear it! said the pewter soldier. I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.
Never did anybody look so sad. Bitter and black, halfway down, in the darkness, in the shaft which ran from the sunlight to the depths, perhaps a tear formed; a tear fell; the waves swayed this way and that, received it, and were at rest. Never did anybody look so sad.
One weeps not save when one is afraid, and that is why kings are tyrants.
What was the point in crying when there was no one to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?
And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off? Or pretending? He let them fall.
Tears such as angels weep.
Maybe that was why she couldn't cry, she realized, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?
I'm not crying because of you; you're not worth it. I'm crying because my delusion of who you were was shattered by the truth of who you are.
Those who do not weep, do not see.
We got off at the next exit, quietly, and, switching drivers, we walked in front of the car. We met and I held him, my hands balled into tight fists around his shoulders, and he wrapped his short arms around me and squeezed tight, so that I felt the heaves of his chest as we realized over and over again that we were still alive. I realized it in waves and we held on to each other crying and I thought, 'God we must look so lame,' but it doesn't matter when you have just now realized, all the time later, that you are still alive.
Tearless grief bleeds inwardly.
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