Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists... When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
Modern cynics and skeptics... see no harm in paying those to whom they entrust the minds of their children a smaller wage than is paid to those to whom they entrust the care of their plumbing.
There is some sadness for me now about acting because it used to be that there was a reverence for actors.
There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root, and it may be that he who bestows the largest amount of time and money on the needy is doing the most by his mode of life to produce that misery which he strives in vain to relieve.
Mourning is not forgetting... It is an undoing. Every minute tie has to be untied and something permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated from the dust.
We get more dangerous as we accumulate knowledge, and that's both a sadness and something to control, try to learn to live with, make terms with.
The usual pretext of those who make others unhappy is that they do it for their own good.
But what of life whose bitter hungry sea Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night Covers the days which never more return? Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn We lose too soon, and only find delight In withered husks of some dead memory.
Money is human happiness in the abstract; he, then, who is no longer capable of enjoying human happiness in the concrete devotes himself utterly to money.
A man's delight in looking forward to and hoping for some particular satisfaction is a part of the pleasure flowing out of it, enjoyed in advance. But this is afterward deducted, for the more we look forward to anything the less we enjoy it when it comes.
He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.
The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.
I think the worst part about a breakup sometimes, if one could choose a worst part, would possibly be if you get out of a relationship, and you don't recognize yourself because you changed a lot about you.
May I make a suggestion, hoping it is not an impertinence? Write it down: write down what you feel. It is sometimes a wonderful help in misery.
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.
There's a feeling of elation that comes after getting off stage and then there's a feeling of utter sadness that comes after getting off the stage.
I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.
It won't happen yet, Ellen mused, mashing cooked carrots for Jill's lunch. Breakups seldom do. It will unfold slowly, one little tell-tale symptom after another like some awful, hellish flower.
No one goes straight to happiness after a breakup.
When you're going through a breakup, you should just let yourself feel everything so you can get over it as opposed to pretending everything's okay and dragging it out.
You'll get through this. And I know it's impossible to believe right now, but it gets better. Trust me.
I'm having a bad day. I am not size six. My legs are not skinny as sticks, and dammit, someone's got to pay. I'm afraid that I can't satisfy myself and that my happiness depends on someone else. I feel weak, so you're gonna take the fall. You're so shallow.
The life of woman is full of woe, Toiling on and on and on, With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, The secret longings that arise, Which this world never satisfies! Some more, some less, but of the whole Not one quite happy, no, not one!
Well, the musicals give emphasis to love, longing, melancholy, sadness. All of that is always there.
I love walking down the street and seeing faces and drama and happiness and sadness and dirt and cleanliness.
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