Langston Hughes Quotes

I'll probably continue to write about heartbreak forever. That stuff doesn't go away as you get older.

Funny how internal scars never healed. They were the souvenirs of the past.

Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed.

His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.

Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every new idea contributes in its passage to scour away. It is the putrefaction of stagnant life, and is remedied by exercise and motion.

It's very inconvenient to be loved. Nearly everyone has found that out, sooner or later. The fewer people who love you the less you will have to suffer.

every heart has its graveyard.

Look, it's a monster. He's walking alone. Look, he's pulling something out of his pocket. He threw it on the ground. Let's go see what it is. It's a black box. You open it... ok... Look, it's sorrow, misery and pain. It's loneliness and longing. Boy, he'll be sorry he lost these.

You hold on to old experiences: injuries, injustices, and great love affairs, too. And you hold them in your joints and your organs, and wear them on your skin.

Everyone, deep down within, carries a small cemetery of those he has loved.

She never got a chance to fall out of love, to do it properly, slowly and thoroughly, and the result was he was like a phantom limb. Gone but still there. And like a true phantom limb, the preponderance of feelings associated with him were painful.

Some people feel like they don't deserve love. They walk away quietly into empty spaces, trying to close the gaps of the past.

I know they say the first love is the sweetest but that first cut is the deepest

My skin is like a map of where my heart has been And I can't hide the marks It's not a negative thing.

In the night, I hear 'em talk. Coldest story ever told. Somewhere far along this road he lost his soul.

The soul languishing in obscurity contracts a kind of rust, or abandons itself to the chimera of presumption; for it is natural for it to acquire something, even when separated from any one.

Grief doesn't fade. Grief scabs over like my scars and pulls into new, painful configurations as it knits. It hurts in new ways. We are never free from grief.

But the effort, the effort! And as the marrow is eaten out of a man's bones and the soul out of his belly, contending with the strange rapacity of savage life, the lower stage of creation, he cannot make the effort any more.

That's the funny thing about old hurts- they just wait for new heartache to come along and then show up, just as sharp and horrible as the first day you woke up with the world changed all around you.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.

The damaged love the damaged. True fact.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

I spent the rest of the day doing little more than that. I skipped dinner. I shed a few tears. But mostly, I just sat on my bed thinking and growing more and more depressed. I also discovered the only thing worse than imagining Dimitri and Tasha together was remembering when he and I had been together. He would never touch me again like that, never kiss me again.

Every heart has its own skeletons.

The scars of your love remind me of us they keep me thinking that we almost had it all the scars of your love they leave me breathless I can't help feeling we could have had it all