Laurence Sterne Quotes

Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.

A dead grief is easier to bear than a live trouble.

A lean sorrow is hardest to bear.

My father's death, my move, and my frightening and difficult delivery created a tremendous amount of stress, pain, and sadness for me. I was practically devastated beyond recovery.

I have shed many tears of pain and indignation.

The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat.

She did not want to talk of her sorrow, but with that sorrow in her heart she could not talk of outside matters.

The substance of grief is not imaginary. It's as real as rope or the absence of air, and like both those things, it can kill.

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

I cannot tell how much my heart suffered for my people while at Leavenworth.

Everybody has lost somebody that they care about, or hopefully you haven't, but that's part of life.

In the country of pain we are each alone.

Sorrow lies like a heartbeat behind everything I have written.

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 the agony of an instant; the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.

To touch a sore is to renew one's grief.

Everybody has their burdens, their grief that they carry with them.

I have heartaches, I have blues. No matter what you got, the blues is there. 'Cause that's all I know - the blues. And I can sing the blues so deep until you can have this room full of money and I can give you the blues.

Laughter and grief join hands. Always the heart Clumps in the breast with heavy stride; The face grows lined and wrinkled like a chart, The eyes bloodshot with tears and tide. Let the wind blow, for many a man shall die.

This tragic brow, these closed eyes, eyebrows raised and knotted.

Sorrow makes an ugly face odious.

There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find.

Our family has gone through a very difficult time. My husband and I have taken the brunt of it. I've never known what it truly felt like to be so sad and desperate inside.

My writing comes not from the happy moments, but from struggle and grief.