Tragic Quotes - Page 2

It is often tragic to see how blatantly a man bungles his own life and the lives of others yet remains totally incapable of seeing how much the whole tragedy originates in himself, and how he continually feeds it and keeps it going. Not consciously, of course—for consciously he is engaged in bewailing and cursing a faithless world that recedes further and further into the distance. Rather, it is an unconscious factor which spins the illusions that veil his world. And what is being spun is a cocoon, which in the end will completely envelop him.

For a moment, Blake said nothing. After chewing on her venom for a moment, he shrugged. “I would rather you hate me for who I am than love me for who I’m not.

People will go through their entire lives justifying every damn decision…they’ll fight for all the wrong things, until finally the right thing stares at them square in the face. That’s when the choices start to matter. Because in the end, you’re a creature of habit. So you may want to choose right, but choose wrong in the end — because you’re so damn used to it. It’s tragic, then again, life’s tragic

I still think that everyone's life, no matter how unremarkable, has a singular tragic encounter after which everything that really matters will happen. That moment is the catalyst - the first step in the equation. But knowing the first step will get you nowhere - it's what comes after that determines the result.

My heart is torn in tiny pieces scattered throughout the years. I exist in several places because you carry those pieces with you, wherever you go, whoever you choose to be, I’ll be beside you in one form or another.

You and IAgain and again Always almost Never enough.- A world of almosts

She smells of her cooking and the perfume Eau d'Hadrien. My mother wore it, too. She used to cook, like Lili. Our house smelled of garlic and thyme instead of sadness.

This is not a book about race, though the disproportionate number of those who fell that day were black, and certain racial themes are unavoidable. It is not a book that sets out to compare the United States unfavorably with Britain, though it is written by a Briton to whom gun culture is alien. Finally, it is not a book about gun control; it is a book made possible by the absence of gun control.

An event is never just what it is in itself and nothing more. It’s what goes on around it, at the same time, that makes it — potentially — a tragic situation.You have to have been exposed to this, at least once, to understand it.

It's a shame there has to be a tragedy before the best in people will finally shine.

Yes, she was the girl playing basketball with all the boys in the park, collecting cans by the side of the road, keeping secret pet kittens in an empty boxcar in the woods, walking alone at night through the rail yards, teaching her little sister how to kiss, reading out loud to herself, so absorbed by the story, singing sadly in the tub, building a fort from the junked cars out in the meadow, by herself in the front row at the black-and-white movies or in the alley, gazing at an eddy of cigarette stubs and trash and fall leaves, smoking her first cigarette at dusk by a pile of dead brush in the desert, then wishing at the stars--she was all of them, and she was so much more that just just her that I still didn't know.

Music — good music, great music — had a hard, irreducible purity to it. It might be bitter and despairing and pessimistic, but it could never be cynical. If music is tragic, those with asses’ ears accuse it of being cynical. But when a composer is bitter, or in despair, or pessimistic, that still means he believes in something.

In a very tragic kind of way, sometimes things have to be gone before I fully realize that they were ever there.

It was frightening to realize how fast things could go wrong.

In the face of immense tragedy—yet again—unexpected beauty.

If not for a dumb beast's incomprehension at its own destruction beneaththe loving hands of two heartbroken children.

She walked beside Jared, four inches of rain-dashed darkness between her hanging wrist and his.

Tragedy cleans the windows of the soul by washing away the bias of our lives in the detergent of pain.

She was a tragic beauty. Sadness had left its fingerprints all over her face.

In past wars only homes burnt, but this timeDon't be surprised if even loneliness ignites.In past wars only bodys burnt, but this timeDon't be surprised if even shadows ignite.

We live in a dark and romantic and quite tragic world.

To me there is no more tragic sight than the average missionary. …We have given so much, yet not the one thing that counts; we aspire so high, and fall so low; we suffer so much, but so seldom with Christ; we have done so much and so little will remain; we have known Christ in part, and have so effectively barricaded our hearts against His mighty love, which surely He must yearn to give His disciples above all people.

Some tragic mistakes are often made by those who acquire the reins of control before their maturity is adequate to handle it.

…I love you,” he said to her, although at that point he was certain she could no longer comprehend the words. “I’d trade places with you in an instant, Mandy Valems… you never deserved this… why would anyone do something so terrible!?” A cold chill froze his heart when he saw her empty eyes again.The fluorescent lights in the dim room sparked to life all of a sudden, brightness so sharp that it startled him. In a flash, sharp and sudden, quicker than a lightning strike, the bulbs flickered and exploded with a few jingling pops.

I found him between a reality and a nightmare.

Yet despite...accommodations with commerce, Möser regarded the market as primarily a threat--to the artisanal citizens of the town, to the traditional wants of the peasantry, and to the political structure to society, since it created a growing class of people outside the traditional paternalistic relations of the countryside. Möser's conception of contemporary political and economic trends in Osnabrück was essentialy tragic and tinged with that idealization of the past that would later be called romantic. Möser's heroes were the artisan-citizen and the independent peasant, his villains the shopkeeper and the peddler.

Life is magical. If life had no magic, it would be tragic.

Who would have listened to his tales of woe when his love was the flickering lamp over his own decaying tomb?

We were his disposable things. Brought to him like cattle. Stripped of what made us sisters or daughters or children. There was nothing that he could take from us—our genes, our bones, our wombs—that would ever satisfy him. There was no other way that we would be free.

In a fit of anger he had said to her, "You'll always be miserable," to which she thoughtfully replied, "Is that so? It's impossible to be miserable when you've known tragedy and hardship. Both strengthen and refine a person to the point where they may have moments of grief and sadness, but misery is known only to those who have a sense of entitlement...you know, people like you.

The most tragic cause of social disharmony is when the speed with which people find mistakes of others outweighs their simple belief that they too are infallible!

Your love was a vine - enchanting and beautiful, crawling around my heart and up my throat; then it strangled me. Your love, hauntingly tragic.

If not towards his case to give him glimpses of what could be a happy future, it stayed back at least to warrant her happiness, stayed back with the pain that strangely didn’t hurt anymore.

Souls soar high above reach,Hands extend but never touch,Words exchanged in dulcet tones,Tis a fated moment to understand one's truth,Time to let go.

Out, out brief candle, life is but a walking shadow...a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.