Crying Quotes - Page 5

Boys don’t cry—or at least that’s what everybody’s supposed to believe.

For once the crofter was at a a rather loss for words, for to him nothing has ever been more completely unintelligible than the reasoning that is bred of tears.

Many people think less of a man if he cries because it supposedly shows a sign of weakness, but I beg to differ. A man that’s in touch with his feelings is absolutely beautiful! I admire, respect, and appreciate their braveness to be vulnerable. Crying is NOT a weakness. We cannot expect our men to be strong all of the time. That’s SO unfair! They have feelings, too. Don’t ever make a man feel less than just because he cries. Comfort, love, and support him. Show him that you genuinely care.

Laughter is like crying.

Never be afraid to cry. Sometimes, nothing can cleanse the heart more than a few wet tears.

What can we do?" Mom asked again.I shrugged.But she kept asking, as if there were something she could do, until I just kind of crawled across the couch into her lap and my dad came over and held my legs really tight and I wrapped my arms all the way around my mom's middle and they held on to me for hours while the tide rolled in.

I know I've got no reason to be crying;I know that there is nowhere left to run.I know that there's no reason to be hiding,I'm just mad at everyone; mad at everyone.

We need never be ashamed of our tears.

You quit? I thought you said it was too dangerous to quit, Alex. You said people who try to get out die.""I almost did. If it weren't for Gary Frankel, I probably wouldn't have made it. . . .""Gary Frankel?" The nicest, geekiest guy in school? For the first time I scan Alex's face and see a faint, new scar above his eye and nasty ones by his ear and neck. "Oh, God! W-what did they d-do to you?"He takes my hand and places it on his chest. His eyes are intense and dark, like they were the first time I noticed him in the parking lot that first day of school senior year. "It took me a long time to realize I needed to fix everything The choices I made. The gang. Bein' beaten to within an inch of my life and branded like cattle was nothin' compared to losin' you. If I could take back every word I said in the hospital, I would. I thought if I pushed you away, I'd be protectin' you from what happened to Paco and my dad." He looks up and his eyes pierce mine. "I'll never push you away again, Brittany. Ever. I swear."Beaten? Branded? I'm feeling sick to my stomach and tears sting my eyes."Shh." He puts his arms around me, rubbing his hands across my back. "It's all right. I'm okay," he chants over and over again, his voice catching.

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.

I learn from my own daughter that you don’t have to be awake to cry.

Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.

I was falling for his lies until he started crying. (sighs) excuse me but I'm gonna need another bucket.

Soon enough the tears came but of course nobody came down to see if she was all right, it was just the slut in the kitchen who'd ruined their lives, getting drunk of neat gin and howling for her lost lunatic offer.

There is an ancient tribal proverb I once heard in India. It says that before we can see properly we must first shed our tears to clear the way.

I began to cry but maintained my shouting through it, like a wind through sheets of rain.

You tell anyone I cried, I'll find a dead fish, put it in a sock, hide it in your room, and let it putrefy.""Fair enough.

My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave... Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.

I didn't know the real reason that she was crying. I was just carried away by the feeling of her in my arms, trembling and warm.

And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless couch, which is the true heroine's portion - to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears. And lucky may she think herself, if she get another good night's rest in the course of the next three months.

When men cry, real men, we cry Man Tears. Those are tears made up of actual meat. We basically cry pork chops and steaks. Imagine a steak tearing its way out of your eye. It hurts like hell, which causes more tears. It's a vicious cycle

it is so dark now with the sadness ofpeoplethey were tricked, they were taught to expect theultimate when nothing ispromisednow young girls weep alone in small roomsold men angrily swing their canes atvisions asladies comb their hair asants search for survivalhistory surrounds usand our livesslink awayinshame.

Often it feels like I am breathing today only because a few years back I had no idea which nerve to cut...

I'm like an onion. You can peel away my layers, but the further you go, the more it'll make you cry.

One must be honest with himself. Then it will be much better than it is now.

When you're crying, your tears may be watering the seeds of your come-back.

He found it so easy and so pleasant to cry that he didn’t try to stop for a while, until he realized he was forcing his sobs a little, exaggerating their depth with unnecessary shudders.…The whole point of crying is to quit before you coined it up. The whole point of grief itself was to cut it out while it was still honest, while it still meant something. Because the thing was so easily corrupted

Her arms groped forward to guide her when her tears blocked her vision in darkness. Then she couldn't run any more. She sank to her knees and began to cry in her terror. She wanted Gary.She suddenly felt strong arms around her. She bent her head to bury it in Gary's shoulder, trembling in the darkness.Whimpering like a small animal in a trap, she pushed herself closer to him and said in a choked voice, "I'm so frightened!""I know, my love," the voice said. "I'm so sorry you were hurt."She felt herself being pulled up to him, his grip around her tight. It was a strange feeling in this pitch-black hallway, where not even the light of the moon cast any illumination. The lips she touched were cold and yet they responded to her with an unusual warmth. His hands massaged her back. Something, Melanie thought, was wrong with that. The hands were too smooth, not like a plastered wrist would feel."Gary?" she asked, backing away. She didn't trust what she couldn't see."My love," the voice whispered, "there is no need to fear now. I shall protect you from those who mean you harm.

But there was something different about this bout of crying. It was calm, facyual crying. Good crying. Water cleansing the tubes, rather like clearing a gutter of leaves and pine needles. A way to get rid of negative energy and make room for something better. It was as if I could feel all the improper thoughts flying away, and new ones taking their place. Better ones. A fresh start.

She felt tears slip from beneath her lashes, no matter how she tried to blink them back. Her heart was ablaze. It seemed that her entire life had led to this man, this moment of unexpressed love.

I may not have wings, but my hands do a better job in wiping away the tears anyway.

Who cries for the children, I do!

If on any given day you don't cry from rejoicing in the beauty of the world, then you have not lived that day.

Tain't no use in you cryin' . . . But folks is meant to cry 'bout somethin' or other. Better leave things de way dey is. Youse young yet. No tellin' whut mout happen befo' you die.

For a few seconds Maria did not move, or even breathe, apparently. Then she gave a sorrowful gulp and, like all little girls, even those who speak to fantastical wild boars and mercurial horses, she collapsed in desperate sobs, of the kind that come so easily to a twelve-year-old, and so hard to a person of forty.

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.

Sam. Brianna is dead.”He just stared at her. Then, in a soft, almost childlike voice, he said, “Breeze?”“She stopped Gaia. It looked like Brianna almost killed her. The second time she . . . But this time . . .”There were tears in Sam’s eyes. “My God. How is Dekka?”“Like you’d expect. Destroyed. Roger’s dead, too, so Edilio . . . It’s been really bad, Sam. Really bad. It’s like we’re in a war.”“We are.

I have never cried in the shower. That's a woman thing I think.

Comfort came in and stood with an appearance of guilt and shame. Her head bent, her eyes soaked with tears, her hands and legs, vibrating like a guiter string as perspiration covered her entire body, she felt like disappearing into the thin air, maybe to another mind creating world.

I wept because I could not believe anymore and I love to believe. I can still love passionately without believing. That means I love humanly. I wept because from now on I will weep less. I wept because I have lost my pain and I am not yet accustomed to its absence.

I draw in a ragged breath, the kind you take when the pain is too deep to cry, when you can't cry because all you are is pain, and if you let some of it out, you might cease to exist.

A man need not be ashamed of moist eyes when he gazes on the face of some loved one who is far away. It's human. It shows a kindly heart, an impressionable mind!("The Doomed Man")

There is no point in delaying crying. Sadness is like having a vicious alligator around. You can ignore it for only so long before it begins devouring things and you have to pay attention.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

Tears won’t help me right now. They’ll just make me weaker.

The worst kind of crying wasn't the kind everyone could see- the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it.

When you smile, it means that your mind smiles; when you cry, it means that your mind cries!

A man with a victim mentality feels like being a victim who is complaining and crying all the time

For a while she cried silently until she tired herself out and the overwhelming feeling of sleepiness overcame her. The room around her was fairly silent, although she wasn’t the only one crying herself to sleep. It was quite common at places like this to hear cries in the dark. There were so many saddened and lonesome souls around her. It was usually at night when they were reminded of just how sad and lonely they actually were.

It's good to cry a bit, 'cause that helps us get through the rough parts. And the winter is though, there's no doubt. But we just hang on until spring when that ache will be all but swallowed up.

Both tears and sweat are salty. but none of them are faulty. the tears can get you somewhere, the sweat will make you only wet.

They would repair the leaks in their eyes.

I try to maintain a positive attitude at all times, because clients notice little things like that, and if you're frowning and crying all the time and saying "why? why?", they get worried.

Figure out what makes you laugh, and do more of it. Figure out what makes you cry, and do less of it.

When we got back home, Gramps dropped me off and enveloped me in a hug. Normally, he was a handshaker, maybe a back-patter on really special occasions. His hug was strong and tight, and I knew it was his way of telling me that he'd had a wonderful time.“Me, too, Gramps,” I whispered.

Oh, [god] can hear you just fine. He hears everything. Every scream. Every cry. Every whimper. Every plea for mercy. For death. He hears. He just doesn't give a fuck.

I don't hate you," I tell her. And I honestly don't. Because love can't be faked when magic's involved. Ivy didn't push me out of the way just to gain a soul. She didn't force anything. It was all her choice to save and lo

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?

Rebecka laughs through her tears. There is almost too much laughter. It bubbles over because she has cried so much she has created an empty space, ready to be filled with another feeling.

I recognized exactly where she was—that state where you’re able to hold it together as long as absolutely no one talks to you or touches you with any amount of sympathy.