Stephen Fry Quotes

I used to cry myself to sleep every night. I missed singing so much. And performing. Man, I missed it so much.

Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate; all that was once so beautiful is dead.

When something you love gets taken away, it hurts you.

No one saw me cry over my dad's death for almost nine years. I hid what I felt, bottling up my emotions so tightly that almost nothing leaked out.

All the best songs have an element of sadness.

Longing is like a seed that wrestles in the ground

It feels like a punch. Tears fill my eyes, and I wonder how I could be upset over losing something I never had.

Love and envy make a man pine, which other affections do not, because they are not so continual.

I'd rather go on hearing your lies, than to go on living without you.

Take back the smile and the night, take it all back, I wish I could.

She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they should meet.

My blood is alive with many voices telling me I am made of longing.

I've never really had anybody close to me die. I think the song is about a feeling that I have that, it still applies. It's a feeling of longing, once again.

I miss my mother very, very much.

When you left on Saturday, I felt a horrible void, I saw you everywhere, on the beach, in your room, in the garden: impossible for me to get used to the idea that you had left.

Even as a child I had a strong relationship with yearning and desire. And loss. Those things spoke to me.

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

My favorite songs to sing have always been songs about regret. I don't know why that is, but to me, that's country music.

I cry a lot because I miss people.

Jealousy... is a mental cancer.

I think of John every day. I do try to block it, but December 8th is not the only day I think of him.

Nostalgia is something we think of as fuzzy. But it's pain. Pain concerning the past.

When you're away, I'm restless, lonely, Wretched, bored, dejected; only here's the rub, my darling dear, I feel the same when you're near.

There is a kind of euphoria of grief, a degree of madness.

To return after long years of painful absence to some place which has been the scene of our former joys, and whence the force of circumstance, and not choice, has driven us, is oppressive to the heart.