Why So Sad Famous Quotes & Sayings
100 Why So Sad Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
There was a man whose only son died of a sudden illness. He did not mourn for his son, nor was he sad about it. His friends were curious about his behavior, so they asked him, "Your only son is dead. You should be heartbroken. Why do you act as if nothing had happened?"— Liezi
The man replied, "Before my son came, I had no son. I was certainly not heartbroken back then. Now I have no son. Why should I be heartbroken now?
One day he said, "I'll tell this town How it feels to be an unfunny clown." And he told them all why he looked so sad, And he told them all why he felt so bad. He told of Pain and Rain and Cold, He told of Darkness in his soul, And after he finished his tale of woe, Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no, They laughed until they shook the trees ... And while the world laughed outside. Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.— Shel Silverstein
I'm not looking thru you Kami, I'm looking into you. I'm standing here, wondering how the hell a girl so beautiful could hold so much sadness in her gorgeous green eyes. And I'm asking myself why I want- no- why I NEED to know what's made her so sad. And what I can do to take away every ounce of that sadness. I need to know what it will take for you to let me in, so I can do just that.— S.L. Jennings
The position of women, over the years, has definitely changed for the worse. we women have behaved like mugs, We have clamoured to be allowed to work as men work. Men, not being fools, have taken kindly to the idea. Why supoort a wife? What's wrong with a wife supporting herself? She wants to do it. By golly, she can go on doing it!— Agatha Christie
it seems sad that having established ourselves so cleverly as the "weaker sex" we should now be broadly on a par with the women of primitive tribes who toil in the fields all day, walk miles to gather camelthorn for fuel, and on trek carry all the pots, pans, and household equipment on their heads, while the gorgeous, ornamental male sweeps on ahead, unburdened save for one lethal weapon with which to defend his women.
Sometimes when I'm alone— Tupac Shakur
I Cry,
Cause I am on my own.
The tears I cry are bitter and warm.
They flow with life but take no form
I Cry because my heart is torn.
I find it difficult to carry on.
If I had an ear to confide in,
I would cry among my treasured friend,
but who do you know that stops that long,
to help another carry on.
The world moves fast and it would rather pass by.
Then to stop and see what makes one cry,
so painful and sad.
And sometimes...
I Cry
and no one cares about why.
You've been pinning for him these last three years, God knows why. Admittedly he's gorgeous, but you're hardly the type to be overset by simple beauty. Why?— Anne Stuart
Because he has sad eyes, she could have said. Because he tries so very hard to be bad, to be mean, to be cruel, and all you have to do is look past the studied ennui to see a hurt little boy trying to emerge. And yes, because he's bloody gorgeous.
Monkeys— Toby Barlow
What! His partner said.
Monkeys are funny, said Peabody.'So why didn't we we pick monkeys.
His partner sighed and shook his head with sad dismay.
Monkeys? Jesus.
Monkeys' idea of fun is throwing their shit at you. Monkeys always take the joke a step too far.
Ohh,' said the girl with a sad tilt of her head.— Adam Rex
It was a response Sejal would hear a lot in the following weeks and which she would eventully come to understand meant, 'Ohh, India, that must be so hard for you, and I know because I read this book over the summer called The Fig Tree (which is actually set in Pakistan but I don't realize there's a difference) about a girl whose parents sell her to a sandal maker because everyone's poor and they don't care about girls there, and I bet that's why you're in our country even, and now everyone's probably being mean to you just because of 9/11, but not me although I'll still be watching you a little too closely on the bus later because what if you're just here to kill Americans?'
There was a lot of information encoded in that one vowel sound, so Sejal missed most of it at first.
Okay. The story is about a little wave, bobbing along in the ocean, having a grand old time. He's enjoying the wind and the fresh air-until he notices the other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore. "My God, this is terrible," the wave says. "Look what's going to happen to me!"— Morrie Schwartz.
Then along comes another wave. It sees the first wave, looking grim, and it says to him, "Why do you look so sad?"
The first wave says, "You don't understand! We're all going to crash! All of us waves are going to be nothing! Isn't it terrible?"
The second wave says, "No, you don't understand. You're not a wave, you're part of the ocean.
We look at death from the selfish side, like: "That guy died. Oh, it's so sad." Why is it sad? He's away from all of this bad stuff that's here on Earth. I mean, at the worst, he's just somewhere quiet, no nothing. At best, he's an angel ... or he's a spirit somewhere. What is so bad about that?— Tupac Shakur
I'm sorry," was all I could muster.— Nicholas Sparks
"You dont have to be sorry.You didn't do it"
"I know.But I dont know what else to say.Unless ... "
I could see the tears running down her cheeks, and the fact that she'd been crying so silently made me ache.
"Unless what?"
"Unless you want me to ... I dont know.Beat the crap out of him?"
She gave me a sad little laugh."You have no idea how many times I've wanted to do just that"
"I will,"I said."Just give me a name, but I promise to leave you out of it.I'll do the rest"
She squeezed my hand. "I know you would."
"I'm serious,"I said.
She gave me wan smile."That's why I won"'t tell you.But believe me, I'm touched.That's sweet of you.
But that peek into his uncensored brain made it clear he too realized there was a good chance things weren't going to work out for us, that the idea of it not working out was already in his mind, and in some corner of his heart he was already preparing for it. And since I was already preparing to prepare for it too, I'm not sure why it made me so sad. But it did. It was like someone cut my lifeline.— Josh Lanyon
Funny thing how it is. If a man owns a little property, that property is him, it's part of him, and it's like him. If he owns property only so he can walk on it and handle it and be sad when it isn't doing well, and feel fine when the rain falls on it, that property is him, and some way he's bigger because he owns it. Even if he isn't successful he's big with his property. That is so.'— John Steinbeck
'But let a man get property he doesn't see, or can't take time to get his fingers in, or can't be there to walk on it - why, then the property is the man. He can't do what he wants, he can't think what he wants. The property is the man, stronger than he is. And he is small, not big. Only his possessions are big - and he's the servant of his property. That is so, too.
Once I asked Mina why she danced so smoothly while most of the other women made abrupt, jerky movements, and she said that many of the women confused liberation with agitation. 'Some ladies are angry with their lives,' she said 'and so even their dance becomes an expression of that.' Angry women are hostages of their anger. They cannot escape it and set themselves free, which is indeed a sad fate. The worst of prisons is a self-created one. (p.162)— Fatema Mernissi
People are shitty for a lot of reasons. Sometimes they're just shitty people. Sometimes people have been shitty to them and, even though they don't realize it, they take that shitty upbringing and go out into the world and treat others the same way. Sometimes they're shitty because they're afraid. Sometimes they choose to be shitty to others before others can be shitty to them. So it's like self-defensive shittiness.— Jennifer Niven
Margaux looks around the table; this is not working. All of a sudden she's thinking about a safe room, something she's only heard of but suddenly wants: water, oxygen, bulletproof door, dead bolts, a thousand books. Utterly quiet. Completely silent. No girls she barely knows in saggy leather pants, no girls in mesh strippers' gloves and jeans sanded thin as a bee's wing, and no girls who can't stay home one night a year because they are always and forever out. On their way to. Coming from.— Ron Koertge
And then her heart open. Just a little, but it does. Because she remembers all that. How she felt then: the self-reproach, the utter confusion ... That's why her heart opens. For those girls at the table who always feel baffled and sad, tender and malign, repulsive and desirable, innocent and contemptuous of innocence.
So she cries. For them, mostly. For herself a little ... everything hesitates. So that for a second there's no sound in the enormous room but that of Margaux sobbing.
-Why are you so sad?— Leo Tolstoy
- Because you speak to me in words and I look at you with feelings.
Liz: What's it like in hell?— Elizabeth Gilbert
Ketut: Same like heaven. Universe is a circle, Liss. To up, to down
all same, at end.
Liz: Then how can you tell the difference between heaven and hell?
Ketut: Because of how you go. Heaven, you go up, through seven happy places. Hell you go down, through seven sad places. This is why it better for you to go up, Liss.
Liz: You mean, you might as well spend your life going upward, through the happy places, since heaven and hell
same destinations
are the same thing anyway?
Ketut: Same-same. Same in end, so better be happy on journey.
He understands that he sees things differently from the way everyone else does, but he can't put his finger on why. He's not like other people. No one understands him. So he goes through his whole life with this, uh ... " he paused, "confusion." Michael looked off into the distance, now seeming lost in his thought process. "Everybody thinks he's very special, but, really, he's very sad. He's so, so sad.— J. Randy Taraborrelli
He stood staring into the wood for a minute, then said: "What is it about the English countryside - why is the beauty so much more than visual? Why does it touch one so?"— Dodie Smith
He sounded faintly sad. Perhaps he finds beauty saddening - I do myself sometimes. Once when I was quite little I asked father why this was and he explained that it was due to our knowledge of beauty's evanescence, which reminds us that we ourselves shall die. Then he said I was probably too young to understand him; but I understood perfectly.
Why you choose happiness, so you think that the sad moments like somebody dieing - it's equal to happiness?— Deyth Banger
!?!?!?!??!
So you think that time crimes like this in auschwitz which don't have proof so far from what they say in the reports from Mr.Death (Documentary film!)... so this is equal to (How to say it???!?!) to happiness??
WTF, crime equal to happiness, sadness also so what's left?
Oh, oh I know the Joker (Note: He is a nice character isn't he?)
If/when I die, do not want Pam lonely. Want her to remarry, have full life. As long as new husband is nice guy. Gentle guy. Religious guy. Very caring + good to kids. But kids not fooled. Kids prefer dead dad (i.e., me) to religious guy. Pale, boring, religious guy, with no oomph, who wears weird sweaters and is always a little sad, due to, cannot get boner, due to physical ailment.— George Saunders
Ha ha.
Death very much on my mind tonight, future reader. Can it be true? That I will die? That Pam, kids will die? Is awful. Why were we put here, so inclined to love, when end of our story = death? That harsh. That cruel. Do not like.
Note to self: try harder, in all things, to be better person.
I tried to slow my racing heartbeat. I didn't want to alarm her. "Mom, it's just, the last time I was here you thought I was your best friend." She smiled. "You are my best friend. You have been ever since you were this high. You and I have always been in this together." I drank in her words like the parched ground swallows rain. I reached out and took her cool hands in mine. "I've missed you so much," I said, trying to contain the flood of emotion washing over me. "There's so much I've wanted to share with you. To talk with you about." "Why don't you start with why you're so sad?" she said, in that tone that would not be denied.— Roxy Sloane
Feathers," he says.— Margaret Atwood
They ask this question at least once a week. He gives the same answer. Even over such a short time - two months, three? He's lost count - they've accumulated a stock of lore, of conjecture about him: Snowman was once a bird but he's forgotten how to fly and the rest of his feathers fell out, and so he is cold and he needs a second skin, and he has to wrap himself up. No: he's cold because he eats fish, and fish are cold. No: he wraps himself up because he's missing his man thing, and he doesn't want us to see. That's why he won't go swimming. Snowman has wrinkles because he once lived underwater and it wrinkled up his skin. Snowman is sad because the others like him flew away over the sea, and now he is all alone.
The best quality about Kobe Bryant? You want me to be honest? I don't know. I'll tell you why. I open my arms to everybody. But he never stepped forward for the embrace. So I never really got to know him. I don't know anything about him, and it's kinda sad.— Shaquille O'Neal
You try hard, but you don't succeed.. So you try harder, and harder ... But you still just don't succeed, you give it a try once more; only realising its never going to work out the way you want it to. But then again, you remember; you've tried so much. You've tried to please, you've tried to love and you've tried to care. You think to yourself, "Why should I keep on going?" You try so hard, what's the point.. No one accepts you for who you are, no one sees you for who you are, no one takes the time to ask how you feel, no one takes the time to bother.. But then there's you ... You try, and try. And you just give up hope, because its just so much easier!— Liam McGrath
And now I have to stop. Because every time I remember this, I have to cry a little by myself. I don't know why something that made me so happy then feels so sad now. Maybe that is the way it is with the best memories.— Amy Tan
In the South you are ashamed of being a virgin. Boys. Men. They lie about it. Because it means less to women, Father said. He said it was men invented virginity not women. Father said it's like death: only a state in which the others are left and I said, But to believe it doesn't matter and he said, That's what's so sad about anything: not only virginity and I said, Why couldn't it have been me and not her who is unvirgin and he said, That's why that's sad too; nothing is even worth the changing of it ...— William Faulkner
Bye-bye love, as in songs. All alone now. It was so sad. Why did such things have to disintegrate like that? Why did longing and desire, and friendliness and goodwill too, have to shatter into pieces? Why did they have to be so thoroughfully over?— Margaret Atwood
I could make myself cry even more by repeating the key word: love,alone, sad, over. I did it on purpose.
In fact, the likeliest reason why so many of us care so little about politics is that modern politicians makes us sad, hurt us deep down in ways that are hard even to name, much less talk about.— David Foster Wallace
So Musa was a simple god, a god of few words. His thick beard and strong arms made him seem like a giant who could have wrung the neck of any soldier in any ancient pharaoh's army. Which explains why, on the day when we learned of his death and the circumstances surrounding it, I didn't feel sad or angry at first; instead I felt disappointed and offended, as if someone had insulted me. My brother Musa was capable of parting the sea, and yet he died in insignificance, like a common bit player, on a beach that today has disappeared, close to the waves that should have made him famous forever.— Kamel Daoud
She died."— John Fowles
I had to prompt him.
"Soon after?"
"In the early hours of February the nineteenth, 1916." I tried to see the expression on his face, but it was too dark. "There was a typhoid epidemic. She was working in a hospital."
"Poor girl."
"All past. All under the sea."
"You make it seem present."
"I do not wish to make you sad."
"The scent of lilac."
"Old man's sentiment. Forgive me."
There was a silence between us. He was staring into the night. The bat flitted so low that I saw its silhouette for a brief moment against the Milky Way.
"Is this why you never married?"
"The dead live."
The blackness of the trees. I listened for footsteps, but none came. A suspension.
"How do they live?"
And yet again he let the silence come, as if the silence would answer my questions better than he could himself; but just when I had decided he would not answer, he spoke.
"By love.
Why did you take this job?" I ask. "It doesn't make sense. You're so young - "— Victoria Schwab
"It was an honor to be promoted," she says, but the words have a hollow ring. I can see her drawing back into herself, into her role.
"Who did you lose?" I ask.
Carmen flashes a smile that is at once dazzling and sad. "I'm a Librarian, Miss Bishop. I've lost everyone.
But, of course only morons would ever think or speak of themselves as intellectuals. That's why they all look so sad.— Ellen Glasgow
I enjoyed coming and going without telling or explaining, being free. I enjoyed listening without talking. I enjoyed being wherever I was without being noticed. But then when the dark change came over my mind, I was in a fix. My solitariness turned into loneliness . . .— Wendell Berry
That, I guess, is why I got so sad. I was living, but I was not living my life. So far as I could see, I was going nowhere. And now, more and more, I seemed also to have come from nowhere. Without a loved life to live, I was becoming more and more a theoretical person, as if I might have been a figment of institutional self-justification: a theoretical ignorant person from the sticks, who one day would go to a theoretical somewhere and make a theoretical something of himself - the implication being that until he became that something he would be nothing.
Love can be so sttange and sad. It can be hard to understand why we run toward certain people and away from others at different times in our lives. Why we search so hard for that thing we are looking for, and the run so fast when we find it. Sick Pleasure - Francesca Lia Block— Stephanie Perkins
What did I do to make Mommy leave?"— Libba Bray
"You didn't do anything. This isn't your fault."
"Then why?" she'd wailed.
"I don't know," her daddy had said, and he looked so sad.
"It isn't fair!"
"No, it isn't, baby. Not by a mile. The world's only as fair as you can make it. Takes a lot of fight. A lot of fight. But if you stay in here, in your own little cave, that's one less fighter on the side of fair.
In sooth I know not why I am so sad.— William Shakespeare
She was unable to prevent the tears shimmering in her blue eyes, and Teach muttered something under his breath. "Why are you always so sad?" he asked.— Nicole Castroman
Noting the tenderness in his features, it was difficult to speak around the lump in her throat. "I'm not."
"Yes, you are. When we are married, I shall make you smile, every day for the rest of your life.
You know what 'Dolores' means? It's Latin, means sadness. Our Lady of Sorrow. Why are you so sad?— Wally Lamb
Why are you drinking? demanded the little prince.— Antoine De Saint-Exupery
"So that I may forget," replied the tippler.
"Forget what?" inquired the little prince, who was already sorry for him.
"Forget that I am ashamed," the tippler confessed, hanging his head.
"Ashamed of what?" insisted the little prince, who wanted to help him.
"Ashamed of drinking!
How could an Angel break my heart? Why didn't he catch my falling star? I wish I didn't wish so hard. Maybe I wished our love apart.— Toni Braxton
Why did you spend your whole life working in an insurance company? You should have been a painter, a musician, well, I don't know. Why didn't you follow your calling?"— Mario Vargas-Llosa
Don Rigoberto nodded and reflected a moment before answering.
"Because I was a coward, son," he finally murmured. "Because I lacked faith in myself. I never believed I had the talent to be a real artist. But maybe that was an excuse for not trying. I decided not to be a creator but only a consumer of art, a dilettante of culture. Because I was a coward is the sad truth. So now you know. Don't follow my example. Whatever your calling is, follow it as far as you can and don't do what I did, don't betray it.
I'm a keeper of flocks.— Alberto Caeiro
The flock is my thoughts
And my thoughts are all sensations.
I think with my eyes and with my ears
And with my hands and feet
And with my nose and mouth.
Thinking about a flower is seeing and smelling it
And eating a piece of fruit is knowing its meaning.
That's why when on a hot day
I feel sad from liking it so much,
And I throw myself lengthwise on the grass
And shut my hot eyes,
And feeling my whole body lying on reality,
I know the truth and I'm happy.
Isn't this exactly what I wanted? Why do I feel so sad then, like I had suddenly just lost everything?— S.C. Stephens
You think I like this?" I say defensively. "Trust me, I don't need this headache in my life." I swallow a mouthful of beer. "Hey. You know Twilight?" He blinks. "Excuse me?" "Twilight. The vampire book." His wary eyes study my face. "What about it?" "Okay, so you know how Bella's blood is extra special? Like how it gives Edward a raging boner every time he's around her?" "Are you fucking with me right now?" I ignore that. "Do you think it happens in real life? Pheromones and all that crap. Is it a bullshit theory some horndog dreamed up so he could justify why he's attracted to his mother or some shit? Or is there actually a biological reason why we're drawn to certain people? Like goddamn Twilight. Edward wants her on a biological level, right?" "Are you seriously dissecting Twilight right now?" God, I am. This is what Allie has reduced me to. A sad, pathetic loser who goes to a bar and forces his friend to participate in a Twilight book club.— Elle Kennedy
Sometimes we get sad about things and we don't like to tell other people that we are sad about them. We like to keep it a secret. Or sometimes, we are sad but we really don't know why we are sad, so we say we aren't sad but we really are.— Mark Haddon
Why does your sword so drip with blood, Edward, Edward? Why does your sword so drip with blood? And why so sad are ye?— Cassandra Clare
In sooth I know not why I am so sad.— William Shakespeare
It wearies me, you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn; ...
I never knew what sad work the reading of old-letters was before that evening, though I could hardly tell why. The letters were as happy as letters could be - at least those early letters were. There was in them a vivid and intense sense of the present time, which seemed so strong and full, as if it could never pass away, and as if the warm, living hearts that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as nothing to the sunny earth. I should have felt less melancholy, I believe, if the letters had been more so.— Elizabeth Gaskell
My father gave me a ruined boy to compensate for the fact that he does not love me.— Brenna Yovanoff
The boy is fragile, broken - broke himself - broke everything.
I asked him why he did it. He said because the world was unlivable. He said it was unlovable, but I think he meant himself. I think he meant that loneliness is sometimes painful.
I curl against him, tuck my head beneath his chin and listen to his heart. It says stay and wait. It says regret. He knows what it is to want love, a love so fierce you grow roots. I hear his heart say please.
He went looking for angels and found me instead, girl of the sorrows, sad but not sorry. I waited for a sign, a star to fall. He reached for a knife and drew branches.
I am ... sad and angry. Why is my spirit so sad and angry? I look back at my life and all I can remember is rage and rage and rage.— Chris Adrian
This way of behaving, this way of feeling, so hysterical, so sad, when someone has died, I don't like at all and would like to avoid. It's not as if the whole thing has not happened before, it's not as if people have not been dying all along and each person left behind is the first person ever left behind in the world. What to make of it? Why can't everybody just get used to it? People are born and they just can't go on and on, but it is so hard, so hard for the people left behind; it's so hard to see them go, as if it had never happened before, and so hard it could not happen to anyone else, no one but you could survive this kind of loss, seeing someone go, seeing them leave you behind; you don't want to go with them, you only don't want them to go.— Jamaica Kincaid
It was always the same feeling of sadness that washed over me when I drank. I never understood why I hadn't realized that if i stayed away from liqour, I might not be so depressed all the time about him. Maybe it was a sick form of torture that i really enjoyed.— Holly Hood
The life's story of great geniuses is a sad one, without much tangible reward, which does not inspire future generations to face a similar fate. Alas also, it stands to reason why so many talent will not come to sparkle on the artistic firmanent.— Joseph Haydn
You're better than you think," I whispered. "I didn't realize it when I was little, didn't understand that look in your eyes, why you always looked so sad, but I get it now. Someone got inside of you and messed you all up, made up down and left right so now you think you're shit when you're not even close. So you need to listen to me when I tell you that you are better than you think. You're even better than that. To me, you're the best."— Madeline Sheehan
- Eva to Deuce (Undeniable)
She's just being sensitive. You put a girl in jail and forget about her for a few months, and they all take it so bloody personally."— G.A. Aiken
"You forgot about her?"
"She's lucky I did. She'd been sent to kill Rhiannon."
"Then why isn't she dead?"
Celyn sighed. "It was a sad, weak attempt, really. She clearly didn't want to do it. Auntie Rhiannon just felt bad for her.
You would get longer livelier and more frequent letters from me, if it weren't for the Christian religion. How that bell tolling at the end of the garden, dum dum, dum dum, annoys me! Why is Christianity so insistent and so sad?— Virginia Woolf
Sadness, seriousness are parts of a psychologically sick man - they need causes. So when you are feeling happy, don't start asking, "Why am I happy?" When you are feeling sad ask why you are sad. But strangely, it has become conventional to our minds that when we are sad we accept it as if it is our nature. And when we are joyous even we are surprised; deep inside we even start worrying: "What is happening to me?"— Rajneesh
That could be made into a sad song, Simon supposed. 'If they are eggs, why are they gray? Who can say, who can say?'— Cassandra Clare
Admittedly, "Why Are the Eggs So Gray?" might not be a big hit, even on the hipster circuit.
The death of these people might have changed the world, Grace, so we might have changed the world, Grace, so we sometimes have to look at death not as something sad, but as something to be glad for. Sometimes death changes our lives in ways we never expect. It can bring with it every emotion; we have to learn to recognize the ones that help us and the ones that hurt us. And we also have to be willing to accept that with everything else, death also brings with it love. That is why we must always be grateful and appreciate it, even if it brings some sadness with it.— S.L. Naeole
I don't really like this song," Emma had said.— Lisa Kleypas
"You told me it was your favourite."
"It's beautiful. But it always makes me sad."
"Why, love?" he'd asked gently. "It's about finding each other again. About someone coming home."
Emma had lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him earnestly. "It's about losing someone, and having to wait until you're together in heaven."
"There's nothing in the lyrics about heaven," he'd said.
"But that's what it means. I can't bear the idea of being separated from you, for a lifetime or a year or even a day. So you mustn't go to heaven without me."
"Of course not," he had whispered. "It wouldn't be heaven without you.
It was just a coat, I know, but I held onto it for so long. I'm not even sure why I kept it. It was with me every day. It kept me warm and dry, and billowed behind me as I rode my bike across the lot in the wee hours of the night. I can't help feeling a little sad it's gone. [But], the coat has served its purpose. The sun is blazing, and I don't need it to keep me warm anymore. Rather than mourn the loss of my jacket, I will be thankful for the time we had together. I thank it for all it did for me, and then I let it go.— Lauren Graham
But, stop and think. What does the word 'witch' truly mean?" "Why - " said Tom, and was stymied. "Wits," said Moundshroud. "Intelligence. That's all it means. Knowledge. So any man, or woman, with half a brain and with inclinations toward learning had his wits about him, eh? And so, anyone too smart, who didn't watch out, was called - " "A witch!" said everyone. "And some of the smart ones, the ones with wits, pretended at magic, or dreamed themselves with ghosts and dead shufflers and ambling mummies. And if enemies dropped dead by coincidence, they took credit for it. They liked to believe they had power, but they had none, boys, none, sad and sorry, 'tis true. But— Ray Bradbury
I've thought that perhaps that's why women are so often sad, once the child's born," she said meditatively, as though thinking aloud. "Ye think of them while ye talk, and you have a knowledge of them as they are inside ye, the way you think they are. And then they're born, and they're different - not the way ye thought of them inside, at all. And ye love them, o' course, and get to know them they way they are ... but still, there's the thought of the child ye once talked to in your heart, and that child is gone. So I think it's the grievin' for the child unborn that ye feel, even as ye hold the born one in your arms.— Diana Gabaldon
makes me more than sad, it makes my heart burn within me, to see that folk can make a jest of striving men; of chaps who comed to ask for a bit o' fire for th' old granny, as shivers i' th' cold; for a bit o' bedding, and some warm clothing to the poor wife who lies in labour on th' damp flags; and for victuals for the childer, whose little voices are getting too faint and weak to cry aloud wi' hunger. For, brothers, is not them the things we ask for when we ask for more wage? We donnot want dainties, we want bellyfuls; we donnot want gimcrack coats and waistcoats, we want warm clothes; and so that we get 'em, we'd not quarrel wi' what they're made on. We donnot want their grand houses, we want a roof to cover us from the rain, and the snow, and the storm; ay, and not alone to cover us, but the helpless ones that cling to us in the keen wind, and ask us with their eyes why we brought 'em into th' world to suffer?" He— Elizabeth Gaskell
Who knew there were still people like that in this world, though? Everybody wants to talk about themselves, and everybody wants to hear everybody else's story, so we take turns playing reporter and celebrity. 'It must have made you very sad when your own father raped you - can you describe some of your feelings at the time? Yes, I wept and wept, wonder why something like this had to happen to me'. It's like that. Everyone's running around comparing wounds, like bodybuilders showing off their muscles. And what's really unbelievable is that they really believe they can heal the wounds like that, just by putting them on display.— Ryu Murakami
The Warrior of the Light views life with tenderness and determination. He stands before a mystery, whose solution he will one day find. Every so often, he says to himself: "This life is absolutely insane." He is right. In surrendering to the miracle of the everyday, he notices that he cannot always foresee the consequences of his actions. Sometimes he acts without even knowing that he is doing so, he saves someone without even knowing he is saving them, he suffers without even knowing why he is sad. Yes, life is insane. But the great wisdom of the Warrior lies in choosing his insanity wisely.— Paulo Coelho
Thats beautiful! Sad and beautiful, murmured Meggie. Why were sad stories often so beautiful? It was different in real life.— Cornelia Funke
Why is it that so many of us persist in thinking that autumn is a sad season? Nature has merely fallen asleep, and her dreams must be beautiful if we are to judge by her countenance.— Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I used to wonder why Lucy liked those songs so much. You know what I mean? She sits in the dark and listens and cries. Music does that to her ... I didn't understand for a long time. But I do now. The sad songs are a safe hurt. It's a diversion. It's controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it's not. Lucy knows that, of course. You can't prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.— Harlan Coben
It is warm, I am alive, I am calm and sad, I hardly know why. In this existence so even, so tranquil, and so gentle as I have here, I am in an element that weakens me morally while strengthening me physically; and I fall into melancholies of honey and roses which are none the less melancholy. It seems to me that all those I love forget me, and that it is justice, because I live a selfish life having nothing to do for any one of them.— George Sand
I found posts about how to slit your wrists the "right way", so you will actually die, and that depressed me, because people actually post stuff like that, and even though I wanted to know the answer, so I could weigh my options, that info maybe shouldn't be on the internet ...— Matthew Quick
But really - why do some people post the correct ways to commit suicide on the internet? Do they want weird, sad people like me to go away permanently? Do they think it's a good idea for some people to off themselves? How can you tell when you are one of those people who should slash his wrists the right way with a razor blade? Is there an answer for that too? I Googled but nothing concrete came up. Just ways to complete the mission. Not justification.
Truth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me: you say it wearies you; But how I got it— J. Sheridan Le Fanu
came by it.
Why do we capital-N Nerds love Mars so much? Because it's beautiful, it's tough, it's buried in our mythic, childhood memories. It's covered with human triumphs but also with sad stories of failure.— Greg Bear
So why must it wound him that the most despairing music is full of beauty? Why must it hurt him and make him cynical and sad and untrusting?— Anne Rice
Death isn't funny."— Robert A. Heinlein
"Then why are there so many jokes about death? Jill, with us - us humans - death is so sad that we must laugh at it.
The Seanchan in the room seemed stunned that Mat had suddenly stripped to the waist. He did not see why, They had servants that wore much less. Light, but they did.— Robert Jordan
"I'm tempted to do the same as you," Min muttered, grabbing the front of her dress.
Mat Froze, then sputtered. He must have swallowed a fly or something. "Burn me," he said, throwing on the shirt he dug out of the bundle. "I'll give you a hundred Tar Valon marks if you do it, just so I can tell the story."
That earned him a glare, through he did not know why. She was the one talking about striding about like a bloody Aiel Maiden on her way to the sweat tent.
Min did not do it, and he was almost sad. Almost. He had to be careful around Min. He was certain that a smile in the wrong place would earn him a knifing not only from her, but from Tuon, and Mat was much happier with only one knife stuck on him at a time.
What if I don't give a shit about the world?"— Shaun David Hutchinson
"I'd say that's pretty fucking sad."
"Why?"
"Because the world is so beautiful.
... he wanted to sleep inside her lungs and breathe her blood and be smothered. He wanted her to be a virgin and not a virgin all at once. He wanted to know her. Intimate secrets: Why poetry? Why so sad? Why that grayness in her eyes? Why so alone? Not lonely, just alone - riding her bike across campus or sitting off by herself in the cafeteria - even dancing, she danced alone - and it was the aloneness that filled him with love. He remembered telling her that one evening. How she nodded and looked away. And how, later, when he kissed her, she received the kiss without returning it, her eyes wide open, not afraid, not a virgin's eyes, just flat and uninvolved.— Tim O'Brien
Ah, clever clogs, but it will have happened in one of my alternative lives. You know— Aidan Chambers
the lives hot-shot scientists tell us we are living at the same time as this one we know about. Which being so, how do you know that what happens in one of your alternative lives doesn't sometimes leak through into your consciousness in this life, and make you sad that you aren't living that particular alternative life instead of this one? Don't you sometimes feel depressed for no reason you can think of? I do. And maybe that's why. We've had a leak from an alternative life and want that life now. Like wanting an ice cream when you were little, which you knew was in the freezer, but your mom wouldn't let you have it.
I think people, especially the press, like to pick on children of famous people and I think that's awful. Things get made up. It's so, so sad. And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it as a 16-year-old. You're like ... 'Why? What did I do?'— Dakota Johnson
Hey. (She took his chin in her hand so that she could move his head back and forth while she examined him.) You're hurting in there. That would make akri very sad. He doesn't like for his Dark-Hunters to hurt and the Simi don't like it when akri is sad. Why are you hurt? (Simi)— Sherrilyn Kenyon
His touch was like an electric current that ran through his fingers into my cheek and down the back of my neck.— Kirby Howell
I took another step back, away from him. "Don't do that," I whispered and hated the part of myself that died for his soft touch. "Why? Why do you do things like that if you agree we shouldn't be involved? It's confusing and ... and you make it so much worse." My words tumbled over each other as they poured from my mouth.
He didn't reach for me again. His blue eyes were sad.
At the ponds that evening I said to Antonio: "It's always been like that, since we were little: everyone thinks she's bad and I'm good."— Elena Ferrante
He kissed me, murmuring ironically, "Why, isn't that true?"
That response touched me and kept me from telling him that we had to part. It was a decision that seemed to me urgent, the affection wasn't love, I loved Nino, I knew I would love him forever. I had a gentle speech prepared for Antonio, I wanted to say to him: It's been wonderful, you helped me a lot at a time when I was sad, but now school is starting and this year is going to be difficult, I have new subjects, I'll have to study a lot; I'm sorry but we have to stop. I felt it was necessary and every afternoon I went to our meeting at the ponds with my little speech ready. But he was so affectionate, so passionate, that my courage failed and I put it off.
And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.— Charlie Kaufman
For them [LGBT group], language has to say exactly what it means. "Why aren't you proud of being gay?" they wanted to know. "Why are you so dark? Why are you so morbid? Why are you so sad? Don't you realize, we're all okay? Let's celebrate that fact." But that is not what writers do. We don't celebrate being "okay." If you want to be okay, take an aspirin.— Richard Rodriguez
![Why So Sad Sayings By Richard Rodriguez: For them [LGBT group], language has to say exactly what it means. "Why aren't you](https://www.greatsayings.net/images/why-so-sad-sayings-by-richard-rodriguez-1032869.jpg "Why So Sad Sayings By Richard Rodriguez: For them [LGBT group], language has to say exactly what it means. \"Why aren't you")
So if we're both so happy, why are we sad?— Leah Raeder
Yes, of course Yahweh could defeat all of Judah's enemies." "Then why didn't He, Grandpa?" Zechariah's face looked sad as he shook his head. "Because our nation no longer believes in Him ... and so no one bothered to ask Him to.— Lynn Austin
And why does man weep when he is sad? I asked at last - Because the glass in the eyes must be washed now and then, so that we can see clearly, said the child.— August Strindberg
N sooth, I know not why I am so sad:— William Shakespeare
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.
I wonder why Miss Kosugi's lectures are always so stiff. Is she a fool? It makes me sad. She went on and on, explaining to us about patriotism, but wasn't that pretty obvious? I mean, everyone loves the place where they were born. I felt bored. Resting my chin on my desk, I gazed idly out the window. The clouds were beautiful, maybe because it was so windy. There were four roses blooming in a corner of the yard. One was yellow, two were white, and one was pink. I sat there agape, looking at the flowers, and thought to myself, There are really good things about human beings. I mean, it's humans who discovered the beauty of flowers, and humans who admire them. At— Osamu Dazai
I've played a ghost, cat, snake. I've been funny, sad. I've been filmed flying on screen. So why not spend time on something else? I don't need to accept everything I'm offered.— Maggie Cheung
It's an honor and privilege to be next to the great mysteries, and that's what I get to do every day. Why are we here? How beautiful the Earth is. Whatever it is, large and small. There's so much that's beautiful and moving and sad, to experience that and find shapes for it, to deeply enter that meditative space. There's nothing like it. Everything else seems so pale.— Carole Maso
So I can't explain why, for the next twenty minutes, I stand at the window quietly willing him with my mind to come inside and erase the distance between us.— Colleen Oakley
You have been to hell, Ketut?"— Elizabeth Gilbert
He smiled. Of course he's been there.
What's it like in hell?"
Same like in heaven," he said.
He saw my confusion and tried to explain. "Universe is a circle, Liss."
He said. "To up, to down
all same, at end."
I remembered an old Christian mystic notion: As above, so below.
I asked. "Then how can you tell the difference between heaven and hell?"
Because of how you go. Heaven, you go up, through seven happy places. Hell, you go down, through seven sad places. This is why it better for you to go up, Liss." He laughed.
Same-same," he said. "Same in end, so better to be happy in journey."
I said, "So, if heaven is love, then hell is.. "
Love, too," he said.
Ketut laughed again, "Always so difficult for young people to understand this!
He was very fond of flying fish as they were his principal friends on the ocean. He was sorry for the birds, especially the small delicate dark terns that were always flying and looking and almost never finding, and he thought, the birds have a harder life than we do except for the robber birds and the heavy strong ones. Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel? She is kind and very beautiful. But she can be so cruel and it comes so suddenly and such birds that fly, dipping and hunting, with their small sad voices are made too delicately for the sea.— Ernest Hemingway,
One of the reasons why we crave love, and seek it so desperately, is that love is the only cure for loneliness, and shame, and sorrow. But some feelings sink so deep into the heart that only loneliness can help you find them again. Some truths about yourself are so painful that only shame can help you live with them. And some things are just so sad that only your soul can do the crying for you.— Gregory David Roberts
But I knew the truth and that's why I was so sad. Every moment before this one depends on this one. Everything in the history of the world can be proven wrong in one moment.— Jonathan Safran Foer
And suddenly there came a breeze from the east, tossing the top of the wave into foamy shapes and ruffling the smooth water all round them. It lasted only a second or so but what it brought them in that second none of those three children will ever forget. It brought both a smell and a sound, a musical sound. Edmund and Eustace would never talk about it afterwareds. Lucy could only say, "It would break your heart." "Why," said I, "was it so sad?" "Sad!! No," said Lucy.— C.S. Lewis
