Alberta Hunter Quotes

Particularly with the blues, it's not just about bad times. It's about the healing spirit.

It’s hurting my soul

I kept thinking how marvellous it would be if I could somehow tear my heart, which felt so heavy, out of my chest.

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul.

The worst prison is not of stone. It is of a throbbing heart, outraged by an infamous life.

He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.

A breath of steam trickles out, filled with the sobs of a grown woman breaking into girl-sized pieces.

Grief held back from the lips wears at the heart; the drop that refused to join the river dried up in the dust.

[I] don't think I was trying to kill myself. I just wanted to hurt, and understand exactly whay I was hurting. This made sense: you cut, you felt pain, period.

Hearts can break and never make a sound.

I wanted to cry but I didn't, I probably should have cried, I should have drowned us there in the room ending our suffering.

I can tell that you been crying all night, drinking all summer, praying for your happiness, hope that you recover

When I'm singing the blues, I'm singing life.

So it was true! A pain slashed at her heart as savagely as a wild animal's fangs.

My heart was broken and my head was just barely inhabitable

Each substance of a grief has twenty shadows.

There is a sacredness in tears

Not knowing whether to wait or to forget is the worst kind of suffering.

I want a heart which is split, part by part, because of the pain of separation from God, so that I might explain my longing and complaint to it.

If I cried me a river of all my confessions, would I drown in my shallow regret?

No matter what anyone says, it's much worse to be unloved than it is to be lost in the woods." "Sometimes, I think you've been lost in the woods all your life, Charlie Brown.

I'm saddest when I sing.

Before my eyes are many miserable scenes, the suffering of others and myself forces my hands to move. I become a machine for writing.

My heart is its own grave!

The mind wants to forget because it weighs so much on the heart and soul. I am tired of crying and feeling so helpless. I want to breathe again -just for a little while.