Category: sad quotes. Page 1086

But in every love there is sorrow, - I recalled, - the grief of completion and approaching death of love, if she is happy, and the sadness of failing and losing what we never owned, if love remains futile.

A voice from the past, he recalls the familiar touch, warm breath on your ear, about passion, striking like a bolt of lightning. Who of us can stand hearing that voice at three in the morning? And maybe you'll remember about this challenge when I Wake up at midnight, awakened by someone crying, and it turns out that you're crying himself, tears pouring down your cheeks, and you didn't even notice that the night you had a bad dream.

Love is gratuitous giving. You give yourself to another person, without asking for anything in return, and thereby lose yourself, disappear like dew from the leaves. And once you realize that your entire life lived for the sake of another and for another. And he disappeared and turned into an appendage of another creature. And then the Moon will be very long to hear your howl!

I'm not leaving forever I'm leaving for the last time.

I feel bad. This is not a disease that can cure a doctor, she's inside, in my chest. There all empty, like I tore the heart.

The alcohol, the tears, the cops... Then again Christmas.

The heart is the pump, wrote Julie in her diary the next day after they broke up with Howard Lieberman, weak and unreliable as any other car. And sometimes, embolism of feelings leads to a deadly indifference.

How sad and very usually all turned out:
Left me in the night now shout tearfully.
I'm just sorry - steps of loneliness hear.
Scary to think it is unlikely I will live life...

I firmly pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to push the tears back...

In the heart the most happy and self-confident woman, let her be alone, poured the dirty swamp of bottomless sadness...

I used to think that my life is falling apart, but now it did, and left the scraps...

Listening to the roaring of the storm, not manifesting itself for real, you needlessly warped his life in expectation of misery, which will never happen.

But this fall broke me...

He'll still get up from time to time and wag his head and let us know how tired he is, but it's not a complaint or excuse or warning any more - he's finished with that; it's like an old clock that won't tell time but won't stop neither, with the hands bent out of shape and the face bare of numbers and the alarm bell rusted silent, an old worthless clock that just keeps ticking and cuckooing without meaning nothing.
Still he sometimes gets up and shakes her head, and tells how tired he was, but that's not a complaint, not an excuse and not a warning - it's over; it's like an old clock that time did not show, but still, the arrows are bent, God knows how, the numbers on the dial have worn off, the call is stalled from rust - old watch, it is still ticking and wheezing, but without any sense.