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Crying Quotes

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Crying Quotes

“My wife and I said good-bye the next morning in a little sheltered place among the lumber on the wharf; she was one of your women who never like to do their crying before folks. She climbed on the pile of lumber and sat down, a little flushed and quivery, to watch us off. I remember seeing her there with the baby till we were well down the channel. I remember noticing the bay as it grew cleaner, and thinking that I would break off swearing; and I remember cursing Bob Smart like a pirate within an hour. ("Kentucky's Ghost")”

WomenCryCryingSailingWeepingSailorCursingShipWeep
Book:Terror by Gaslight: More Victorian Tales of Terror
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“Chronic stress in infancy and early childhood has been identified as a major contributor to adult health problems. In 2009, Jack Shonkoff and colleagues published a major review in the Journal of the American Medical Association that stated that "adult disease prevention begins with reducing early toxic stress." Considering the state of American's health, this is something we should take quite seriously. A recent report from the Institute of Medicine (2013) noted the following: "For many years, Americans have been dying at younger ages than people in almost all other high-income countries. This disadvantage has been getting worse for three decades, especially among women. Not only are their lives shorter, but Americans also have a longstanding pattern of poorer health that is strikingly consistent and pervasive over the life course." One way we can improve the health of the next generation is to challenge the hegemony of the cry-it-out advocates. We need to stand by the others we serve as they make the decision to defy cultural norms and respond to their babies. The health of the next generation depends on it.”

HealthCryingBabiesPublic HealthCry It Out
Book:Impact of Sleep Training and Cry it Out: Excerpt from The Science of Mother-Infant Sleep
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“At sunset, just as the light from the fire became brighter than the light from the doorway, she finished. The skeleton lay across her lap, complete, claws wired to paws vertebrae strung like beads. 'Wake,' she whispered, while the light faded outside the door. 'Wake. Please.' The bones lay motionless in her lap. She bowed her head. Please. Please, Bonedog. I'm never going to see my sister again, or my mother. I'm not going to see the Sister Apothecary or the abbess. I need one more friend. Please. It was too much like the first time. The second impossible task was also the third. She had always known that she had gotten off too lightly, being handed the moon in a jar. Fenris took her free hand, careful of her sore fingertips, and held it between his palms, waiting with her. 'Please,' she said again, and a single tear ran hotly down her cheek and splashed on to the white expanse of skull. Bonedog yawned and stretched and woke. Marra let out a sob of relief and buried her head in Fenris's neck. He held her in the crook of his arm while Bonedog stood up and bounced and cavorted around the hut.”

TearsSadCryingWantingNettle And BoneT KingfisherMarraNeedingFenrisBonedog
Book:Nettle & Bone
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“She felt sad, but she hadn't cried all day. She thought that crying would actually be a good thing right now. It seemed normal to react. Whoever Martin had been, he had probably been a normal person. He was probably having a normal reaction right now, and she had caused it. She felt bad for confusing him. She thought it might be fair to cry for him. But it wasn’t until she thought of the mother cows in the pasture the day after the weaning, wandering around singly in the naked sunshine, still trying to call out in their hoarse, broken voices for the young ones that were still missing, that she was finally able to make herself cry—a little bit for all of the calves, but mostly for herself.”

SadCryingReactionAlexandra KleemanIntimations
Book:Intimations: Stories
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“I love your loins, that's all,' Rachel says quietly. 'And now I love the word itself, and how words change, I love that too. And all the parts of you, I love them. That's all. And I'm not sad,' she whispers, gasping a little at the shock of her own tears, hot and extravagant, tears that catch the light in her lashes before they drop and roll across Zach's thighs, sparkling capsules, kaleidoscopic, the flow dynamic.”

LoveTearsSadWordsCryingDescriptiveBe My WolffEmma RichlerDeclaration Of LoveWord MeaningsLoins
Book:Be My Wolff
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“I shook again, tasted plum, and suddenly the words were pouring out of me."She said I sang before I spoke. She said when I was just a baby she had the habit of humming when she held me. Nothing like a song. Just a descending third. Just a soothing sound. Then one day she was walking me around the camp, and she heard me echo it back to her. Two octaves higher. A tiny piping third. She said it was my first song. We sang it back and forth to each other. For years."I choked and clenched my teeth. "You can say it,"Auri said softly."It's okay if you say it." "I'm never going to see her again,"I choked out. Then I began to cry in earnest. "It's okay,"Auri said softly."I'm here. You're safe.”

LovePainSongFriendshipBabySafeCryingKvotheAuriPlumLonging For PastMy First Song
Book:The Wise Man's Fear
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“And Emily had yet to shed a single tear. It troubled her all the way back to the city, and she rode with one hand sandwiched between her cheek and the cool, shuddering glass of the limousine window, as if that might help. She tried whispering 'Daddy' to herself, tried closing her eyes and picturing his face, but it didn't work. Then she thought of something that made her throat close up: she might never have been her father's baby, but he had always called her 'little rabbit.' And she was crying easily now, causing her mother to reach over and squeeze her hand; the only trouble was that she couldn't be sure whether she cried for her father or for Warren Maddock, or Maddox, who was back in South Carolina now being shipped out to a division. But she stopped crying abruptly when she realized that even that was a lie: these tears, as always before in her life, were wholly for herself—for poor, sensitive Emily Grimes whom nobody understood, and who understood nothing.”

GriefFuneralCrying
Author:Richard Yates
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“Mom looked like this might make her cry. And maybe she would. Mom could cry while doing just about anything. She was a champion weeper. I don't know who gives out awards for this kind of thing, but Mom could win awards. I have seen her weep while vacuuming, I have seen her sob while standing in front of the microwave waiting for peas to defrost I have seen her break down in the mailman's arms. She even cried once while eating ice cream...”

GriefChampionCryingWeepingSobbingChampionsChampion Weeper
Book:Notes on Your Sudden Disappearance
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“it felt like permission. The kind I hadn't let myself have for six months. The kind of permission that I'd been waiting for, as I sat alone in my aunt's apartment, and grief welled up so high it felt suffocating. The permission I thought I'd given myself, but it hadn't been permission to cry - it had been a command to be strong. To be okay. I told myself, over and over, I had to be okay. And finally - finally - someone gave me permission to come undone.”

GriefCommandPermissionCryingUndoneThe Seven Year Slip
Book:The Seven Year Slip
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“I weep over everything--the loss of the lap where I once lay, the death of the hand I was given, the arms to embrace me that I never found, the shoulder to lean on that I never had. And the day that breaks definitively, the grief that breaks in me like the naked truth of day, all that I dreamed or thought or forgot--all of this, like an amalgam of shadows, fictions and regrets, blends into the wake of the passing worlds and falls among the things of life like the skeleton of a bunch of grapes, filched by young boys and eaten on the street corner.”

GriefRegretMourningCryingWeeping
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“It was easier to cry alone. No people or mirrors to bear witness. Ethan sobbed into his fist, the swell of pointlessness and frustration bursting a dam in his throat. The exhaust fan drowned out the sound. Ethan wanted to scream, to manifest some tangible evidence of the shredding hurt. He managed a few croaky gasps, the sound withering like rot. Even encased in solitude and steam, it felt performative.”

GriefCryingFeelings And Emotions
Author:Frances Wren
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