Jean Rhys Quotes

Oh, seek, my love, your newer way; I'll not be left in sorrow. So long as I have yesterday, Go take your damned tomorrow!

All the best songs have an element of sadness.

Love was like rain: it turned into ice, or it disappeared. Now you saw it, now you couldn't find it no matter how hard you might search. Love evaporated; obsession was realer; it hurt, like a pin in your bottom, a stone in your shoe. It didn't go away in the blink of an eye. A morning phone call filled with regret. A letter that said, Dear you, good-bye from me. Obsession tasted like something familiar. Something you'd known your whole life. It settled and lurked; it stayed with you.

Some of these days, Oh, you'll miss me honey

Wish I could spin my world into reverse just to have you back again

Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened.

it just breaks / a man's heart, watching / a girl so involved with her life, / without him like that.

Sharp nostalgia, infinite and terrible, for what I already possess.

In 1957's 'There's No You,' Sinatra is suspended at the intersection of a loss he can't face and a memory he can't relinquish.

Being away from the game took a toll on my heart.

The only time I get a tear in my eye is when I think of what I can possibly miss.

There's no ifs and buts or maybes, you're gonna miss, you're gonna miss my loving.

A lost love. Deny it who will, ridicule it, treat it as mere imagination and sentiment, the thing is and will be; and women do suffer therefrom, in all its infinite varieties: loss by death, by faithlessness or unworthiness, and by mistaken or unrequited affection.

You shoulda left the other day You let me beg for you to stay

I don't know where we went wrong, but the feeling's gone and I just can't get it back.

There is anguish in the recollection that we have not adequately appreciated the affection of those whom we have loved and lost.

Memory is the sense of loss, and loss pulls us after it.

Now I am sober and there's only the hangover and the memory of love.

Hell was waking up alone, the sheets wet with your tears and your seed, knowing the woman you had dreamed of would never come back to you.

To gain anything we have longed for is only to discover how vain and empty it is; and even though we are always living in expectation of better things, at the same time we often repent and long to have the past back again.

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.

I was weeping again, drunk on the impossible past.

Love of love written by the broken hearted, love of life written by the dead.