Maria Monk Quotes

A loss feels like a loss.

Everybody has unhappiness.

Oh baby," he whispers. Steps back. Out of the doorway. His face ashen. He walks slowly back to the kitchen. Leans over the counter. Puts his head in his hands. His hair falls over his fingers. The bathroom door clicks shut. She stays there for a long time. He's pulling his hair out.

Can’t sleep ‘cause all the dirt make my heart hurt

A woman shaking in fear from demons in her mind, and the old man who loves her more deeply than life itself, crying softly in the corner, his face in his hands.

My stomach lurched, an appetizer before the full portion of heartache I had a feeling was going to be served at some point soon.

She needed to talk, she needed to cry, she needed to vent all her frustrations and disappointments.

But that wasn't quite right. I called it a nine because I was saving my ten. And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating faceup on the water, undrowned.

My heart is afraid that it will have to suffer.

I had the hardest time not crying, the entire time that I was filming.

My heart shoots into my throat every time I think I see his loping walk, or catch sight of some floppy brown hair on a boy - but it's never him, and each time it isn't, my heart does a reverse trajectory down into the very pit of my stomach.

Rejection, though--it could make the loss of someone you weren't even that crazy about feel gut wrenching and world ending.

Sometimes I feel so sick at the state of the world I can't even finish my second apple pie.

To be more precise it was the color of heartache.

It's like every day is the worst day of your life. And you're trapped and you're scared and you have to portray those emotions in every take and really take yourself to those places. (about her role as an abused wife in ENOUGH.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.

A hundred hundred heartbeats..." whispered Sabriel, tears falling down her face.

His distress and pleasure mixed and married, giving birth to several anxious children.

The silence is perfect, and yet a torment.

I'm not happy. I'm not happy at all.

Anxiety is the poison of human life; the parent of many sins and of more miseries.

You can’t keep messing me around like this. It’s been going on too long. I can’t take it anymore. I get sick every time you come around. Then I get sick when you leave. You’re like a disease to me.

I held my heart back from positively accepting anything, since I was afraid of another fall, and in this condition of suspense I was being all the more killed.

He broke my heart, and now it's raining, just to rub it in.