Lisi Harrison Quotes

And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore.

Grief brims itself and flows away in tears.

You're an idiot," she whispered tearfully. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared up at her; by then, she had moved on to stroking his hair and crying. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed, trying very hard not to bump him or let her cold tears fall on his bare chest and arms. For a moment he blinked at her. Then he asked, "Are you dead too?

Nothing dries sooner then a teare.

My heart is empty & my life has no value anymore. Each moment a thousand tears.

I cried until my eyes swelled shut, and then I slept, a black, dreamless sleep from which I awoke amazingly refreshed, at least until I remembered.

Nothing dries sooner than tears.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.

It was the saddest day of my life.

Tears hinder sorrow from becoming despair.

Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing.

Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!

In rising sighs and falling tears.

A heart weighs more when it splits in two; it crashes in the chest like a broken plane.

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

I promised I'd save him, take him home! I promised him!" . . . Thomas hugged Chuck to his chest, squeezed him as tightly as possible, as if that could somehow bring him back, or show thanks for saving his life, for being his friend when no one else would. Thomas cried, wept like he'd never wept before. His great, racking sobs echoed through the chamber like the sounds of tortured pain. (pg 358 hardback)

You will love again, people say. Give it time. Me with time running out. Day after day of the everyday. What they call real life, made of eighth-inch gauge. Newness strutting around as if it were significant. Irony, neatness and rhyme pretending to be poetry. I want to go back to that time after Michiko's death when I cried every day among the trees. To the real. To the magnitude of pain, of being that much alive.

You might find it difficult to see anything but your own sadness, the way smoke can cover a landscape so that all anyone can see is black. You may find that if someone pours water all over you, you are damp and distracted, but not cured of your sadness, the way a fire department can douse a fire but never recover what has been burnt down.

Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.

I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.

I might never breathe again once he walked away from me.

It's all over but the crying.

your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.

Now I know that grief is a whetstone that sharpens all your love, all your happiest memories, into blades that tear you apart from within.