Mikhail Bulgakov Quotes

But solitude is sadness.' 'Yes; it is sadness. Life, however, has worse than that. Deeper than melancholy lies heart-break.

The delta blues is a low-down, dirty shame blues. It's a sad, big wide sound, something to make you think about people who are dead or the women who left you.

Grief is so human, and it hits everyone at one point or another, at least, in their lives. If you love, you will grieve, and that's just given.

I don't mourn the dead. I mourn the living.

Grief is an emotion that's almost unplayable because you're in a separate emotional state; it's an inconsolable emotion.

Lonesome. Lonesome. I know what it means. Here all by my lonesome, dreaming empty dreams. Weary. Weary at the close of day, wondering if tomorrow brings me joy or sorrow.

Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it's all over much too soon.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.

There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery

When it was all over, and I was left alone in my office, I put my face in my hands and wept. I could do nothing less.

A loss feels like a loss.

I know what it's like to lose.

I know how it feels to lose.

I understand the power of sorrow, and I understand how far it can take us from ourselves if we let it.

It's very hard to be happy when you've lost.

Little Words When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf, Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds; And I can only stare, and shape my grief In little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown The bitter woe that racks my cords apart. The weary pen that sets my sorrow down Feeds at my heart. There is no mercy in the shifting year, No beauty wraps me tenderly about. I turn to little words- so you, my dear, Can spell them out.

I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die.

The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand.

I am sick of this way of life. The weariness and sadness of old age make it intolerable. I have walked with death in hand, and death's own hand is warmer than my own. I don't wish to live any longer.

Hope is a punishable offense. The verdict is always death; one more death of the heart.

Laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely broken and the world a howling wilderness.

This world that I live in is empty and cold/the loneliness cuts me and tortures my soul.

Nothing remained but loneliness and grief.

One bitter time of mourning, I remember, When day, and night, my sad heart did complain, My life, I said, was one cold, bleak December, And all its pleasures, were but whited pain.

After the pain of this disappointment her heart once more stood empty, and the succession of identical days began again.