Ingrid Betancourt Quotes

Having got into bed and turned out the light, I quietly burst into tears because I am not a good person. As they came and went for some minutes, I was concerned with the words following 'because' in the previous sentence, rewriting them over and over in my head until they seemed to be as close to the truth as it was possible for me to make them.

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

I hate myself for loving you and the weakness that it showed. You were just a painted face on a trip down to suicide road.

Once upon a time there was a lady. She had no children, and no happiness either. And at first she cried for a long time, but then she became wicked.

The confusing lesson whipped Frankie's anger into something she had never felt before. It was like an emotional meringue - the airy feeling of loneliness topped with the hard crisp of injustice. Yet its taste was far from sweet.

I felt for my crime a just terror; I looked on my life with hate, and my passion with horror.

Tally turned away. Five minutes was suddenly too long to stand here, eyes burning, unable to cry.

My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out.

We burn so hard, but we shed so little light; it makes us crazy and sad.

I am...sad and angry. Why is my spirit so sad and angry? I look back at my life and all I can remember is rage and rage and rage.

I am a strange compound of weakness and resolution! However, if I must suffer, I will endeavour to suffer in silence. There is certainly a great defect in my mind my wayward heart creates its own misery Why I am made thus I cannot tell; and, till I can form some idea of the whole of my existence, I must be content to weep and dance like a child long for a toy, and be tired of it as soon as I get it.

Do you absolutely despise me, Walter?" "No." He hesitated and his voice was strange. "I despise myself.

The silence is perfect, and yet a torment.

When Jared smiled, his teeth were stained with fresh scarlet. "Don't you hate me?" he demanded. "I'd hate me." "You just tried to drown yourself," Ash said. "You seem to hate yourself plenty already.

I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

My life is in denial. And when I die, baptized in eternal fire, I'll shed many tears.

I'm always weeping at something or other.

You know, sometimes I feel well and vital in the world, and sometimes I just feel so distressed I want to pull my hair out by the roots.

It's a brooding melancholy that haunts me.

I wish I knew why I am so anguished.

I was adopted into this incredible home, a loving, positive environment, yet I had this yearning, this kind of darkness that was also inside me.

It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes.

It's curious how we act in moments of personal despair.

I feel terrible about it. Part of it is the horror of what happened and part of it is my guilt about being a part of it.

The darkest moments for me weren't necessarily winding up in the hospital or anything like that. It was those quiet moments alone when I just hated the person I had become.