Brin-Jonathan Butler Quotes

Sorrow makes an ugly face odious.

Most of life is sad.

There is too much unhappiness in football, no?

Reynie's fce fell. 'It's not funny, Kate.' For a moment - a fleeting moment - Kate looked desperately sad. 'Well, of course it's not funny, Reynie Muldoon. But what do you want me to do? Cry?

Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad.

But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy?

You know, if my life was a horse, I’d shoot it. (Susan)

Woe is me! Bitter is me! For what is my life? Why didn't the ship go under and drown me before I came to America?

He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom.

Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair.

From a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had closed her eyes.

No wonder sorrow doesn’t smile much. No wonder sadness is so sad.

Friendship's full of dregs.

I was crying a little for the boy I had wanted him to be and the boy he hadn’t turned out to be.

I looked at her, and she was smiling like she was broken.

Il y aura toujours un chien perdu quelque part qui m'empe" chera d'e" tre heureux. There will always be a lost dog somewhere that will prevent me being happy.

Disappointment has a name, it's heartbreak

I left him in his wheelchair, staring sadly into the fireplace. I wondered how many times he’d sat here, waiting for heroes that never came back.

In that moment I understood that the cruelest words in the universe are if only.

It all ends in tears anyway.

The sun won't shine since you went away, seems like the rain's falling every day. There's just one heart, where there once was two; that's the way it's gotta be until I get over you.

I should have been happy: I wasn’t.

I can see that the sadness has returned. And it's not a beautiful sadness- beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain.

There is no greater misery than false joys.

But now the joy is gone and the sadness is back, the sadness feels like something deserved, the price of some not-quite-forgotten betrayal.