Browsing Topic Best Cry Quotes

Your persistent longing is your persistent voice. But when love grows cold, the heart grows silent. Burning love is the outcry of the heart! If you are filled with longing all the time, you will keep crying out, and if your love perseveres, your cry will be heard without fail.

The life we live is just a colourful and deposit toy. Some of us take it so seriously and fight and cry for it. Some of us break and throw it. Either we give extreme importance, either not enough. Better to stay far from extremes.

Every being cries out in silence to be read differently. Do not be indifferent to these cries.

More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.

My blood G cold, never seen my dad cry. And I’m a bleed your block til the cash dry!

People don’t cry when they lose their hope. They cry when they get it back.

I lay in bed at night crying to myself. The only one who loved me and watched over me was someone I couldn’t see or hear or touch.

Dear God, May all the tears I cry, and all the tears I have not cried but hold within, pour forth into Your hands. Please take each painful thought and unhealed wound, and send angels here to me. I long for peace. Amen.

Be careful if you make a women cry, because God counts her tears. The woman came out of a man’s ribs. Not from his feet to be walked on, not from his head to be superior, but from his side to be equal, under the arm to be protected, and next to the heart to be loved.

When you came into this world you cried, whereas everyone else rejoiced. During your lifetime, work and serve in such a way that when it is time for you to leave this world, you will smile at parting while the world cries for you. Hold this thought and you will always remember to consider others above yourself.

It’s better to cry than be angry, because anger hurts others while tears flow silently through the soul and cleans the heart.

Don’t cry over spilt milk.

Because of you, I laugh a little harder, cry a little less, and smile a lot more.

In heaven we will not longer cry, feel sad, or face death. Our bodies will be perfect, locked into eternal youth… ageless.

Abu Dharr once described the people of the world, says, They breed what will they ultimately bury, they build what will eventually be destroy, they hold firm to what is emphemeral, and they forsake what is everlasting. Hence, blessed are the two cries people abominate most: Death and poverty.

I want to be spoiled like a child. Cry to my heart’s content. But I can only suppress my feelings.

If to enjoy even an enjoyable present we must have the assurance of a happy future, we are crying for the moon. We have no such assurance. The best predictions are still matters of probability rather than certainty, and to the best of our knowledge every one of us is going to suffer and die. If, then, we cannot live happily without an assured future, we are certainly not adapted to living in a finite world where, despite the best plans, accidents will happen, and where death comes at the end.

People stood on their chairs, cheering and waving. And it was all for me! Waves of love flooded the stage and washed over me. I started to cry. The sweetness of such a moment is impossible to describe. One is both lover and beloved. … I’d found the one true, enduring romance of my life.

The path of duty I clearly trace, / I stand with conscience face to face, / And all her pleas allow; / Calling and crying the while for grace, – / ‘Some other time, and some other place; / Oh, not to-day; not now!

If I want to be alone, some place I can write, I can read, I can pray, I can cry, I can do whatever I want – I go to the bathroom.

I’m an actor, so sometimes there are moments where I think about everything that’s happening and I want to cry. I’m doing what I love and I will be doing it for a very, very long time – and it’s amazing. A lot of people don’t get to do that.

So we down-to-earth, gutsy, tough, realistic, and practical types have just been squandering billions of dollars and unimaginable amounts of energy, nerve-work, and materials in whizzing off to the moon to discover, as astronomers knew before, that it was just a dreary slag heap. This is the true, original and scientifically etymological meaning of being lunatics. Crying for the moon.

At my dad’s funeral I didn’t cry when my dad died. I did it years later when I forgave him, which I’ve totally forgiven him and I loved my dad.

Don’t ask me about emotions in the Welsh dressing room. I’m someone who cries when he watches Little House on the Prairie.

The first time we did cavalry charge I was so breathless with excitement I nearly fell off the horse. I actually saw stars in front of my eyes and thought I was going to faint. The second time I had a bit more control but was still giddy with excitement. And the third time I was an emotional wreck. I had to really try hard not to cry.

The very impulse to write springs from an inner chaos crying for order – for meaning.

Some cry: ‘Love me!!’ Others: ‘Don’t love me!!’ But a certain genus, the worst and most unhappy, cries: ‘Don’t love me and be faithful to me!!’

My girlfriend is upset about her new haircut. I don’t understand why she’s crying. I’m the one who has to get a new girlfriend.

I rock because sometimes I’m scared and that’s alright. I rock because I’m not afraid to cry. I rock because I’m loved and I’m able to love. I rock…I rock.

I just can’t get over how much babies cry. I really had no idea what I was getting into. To tell you the truth, I thought it would be more like getting a cat.

About six months ago, I listened to Siamese Dream. That was the first time I’d ever really heard my own album, because I had separated from the experience of making the record. And it really moved me. It made me cry, it’s so beautiful.

Do you like me? No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered my trust. It tore cigarettes out of my mouth. We exchanged blind words, and I did not cry, I did not beg, but blackness filled my ears, blackness lunged in my heart, and something that had been good, a sort of kindly oxygen, turned into a gas oven.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cryOf bugles going by.And my lonely spirit thrillsTo see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

The little babies are missing their families from their past lives. The babies have old souls and the old souls have to shrink to become little babies. The tears loosen their memories so they can slide away. They cry at the life they have lost, and then they cry at everything they’ll forget.

That is supposed to be the rallying cry of women in the age of AIDS: no condom, no sex. But the dirty little secret is that the rallying cry is a whisper…. The great unspoken on the heterosexual AIDS front has been how behavior is still determined by the old psychosexual minuet of the sexes, the lack of responsibility in young men and of assertiveness in young women.