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Tragic Quotes

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Tragic Quotes

“There are things I can confess only after swallowing a bottle of ink. How i crushed a moth between my palms before it rushed to the fireplace. These hands that are used to killing things midflight. Like my mother tongue. Before I can roll out my rounded R and O. Because women like me are believed to practise witchcraft and blackmagic. We swallow men and spit out their bones. These hands that danced with your ghosts on the bluest 4 AMs. These hands that raised a knife to its throat. How deep was the longing to be nothing more than an empty bed, an empty room. If someone asks you tell them writing was the closest I came to witchcraft. Poetry was the closest I came to being possessed. I wanted to leave behind more than emptiness so I wrote. . They say it takes 7 seconds for the eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. I glide across the dark room like the light was never here. Your body imprint on the mattress lost to the frenzied waltz of sunray and dust. How easy was it to just grab a handful of you before you dissolved. If someone asks tell them loving you was the closest I came to seeing god. . On some nights I open the curtains and you are the moon. I am the darkness surrounding it. Which is to say I don't know how to love without being consumed. If they ask you tell them remembrance was the closest I came to being sick. . Once I met a homeless man who spoke in madness because he had forgotten his mother tongue. How long do you hide yourself from the world before you forget your beginning. Like him - I too am full of silence. My beloved - a handful of you, your body. There are things I could only tell the moths but they no longer visit. I have put off the fireplace. Which is to say they too don't know how to love something that won't kill them. . My phone always autocorrects I love you to I live you and what is love if not living the other person. One summer afternoon our bodies turned into each other's. Your breath played lye strings on my neck. If they ask you tell them that was the closest I came to being alive.”

“... You have to stop this from happening," I whispered, meeting his penetrating stare, pleading for him to see what was written in my eyes that I couldn't form into words. "What would you give me if I could?" he asked as he strolled across the room, getting closer to the bed where I still sat. "What would you want?" I asked, afraid it would be more than I could give him. "You," he said, falling to his knees in front of me. "I'd want you, Synthia, to do as I wished with for the rest of my life. You would be mine, completely. I'd want you at my mercy, to taste, and touch when I wanted you" "Ryder," I whispered as I brought my hands up to cradle his face between them. He looked exposed on his knees, and I wanted to kiss away my pain and his.”

“The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol's rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta... in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people.”

“Let us imagine a rising generation with this fearless gaze, with this heroic attraction to what is monstrous, let us imagine the bold stride of these dragon-killers, the proud recklessness with which they turn their backs on all the enfeebled doctrines of scientific optimism so that they may 'live resolutely', wholly and fully; would not the tragic man of this culture, given that he has trained himself for what is grave and terrifying, be bound to desire a new form of art, the art of metaphysical solace, in fact to desire tragedy as his very own Helen, and to call out along with Faust: And shall I not, with all my longing's vigour, Draw into life that peerless, lovely figure?”

“She did not understand music and it upset her, it had only sad, tragic things to say. These leaping forms, these pursuits and insistences, these elusive desperate repetitions, always seemed to her like one long cry of agony. She could not, in this company, allow herself the luxury of self-pitying tears, which was her highest tribute to the art. She looked about her and let the music gather to her the people with whom she was so deeply concerned.”

“Yes, she was the girl playing basketball with all the boys in the park, collecting cans by the side of the road, keeping secret pet kittens in an empty boxcar in the woods, walking alone at night through the rail yards, teaching her little sister how to kiss, reading out loud to herself, so absorbed by the story, singing sadly in the tub, building a fort from the junked cars out in the meadow, by herself in the front row at the black-and-white movies or in the alley, gazing at an eddy of cigarette stubs and trash and fall leaves, smoking her first cigarette at dusk by a pile of dead brush in the desert, then wishing at the stars--she was all of them, and she was so much more that just just her that I still didn't know.”

“Yet despite...accommodations with commerce, Möser regarded the market as primarily a threat--to the artisanal citizens of the town, to the traditional wants of the peasantry, and to the political structure to society, since it created a growing class of people outside the traditional paternalistic relations of the countryside. Möser's conception of contemporary political and economic trends in Osnabrück was essentialy tragic and tinged with that idealization of the past that would later be called romantic. Möser's heroes were the artisan-citizen and the independent peasant, his villains the shopkeeper and the peddler.”

“At that moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to lose, but, seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, "Now is the time! Save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I seek. Do not desert me in the hour of trial!" '"Great God!" exclaimed the old man, "who are you?" 'At that instant the cottage door opened...”

“And the end of life is to fashion a soul, an immortal soul; a soul of one's own making. Because at the hour of death one bequeaths a skeleton to the earth, but a soul, a piece of work, to history. Or such is the case when one has lived, that is, when one has wrestled with the life that passes, wrestled it for the prize of the life that remains. And life, what is life? Even more tragic, what is truth?”

“{On the death of Hale's esteemed friend and fellow scientist, Luther Burbank. Burbank was much beloved by the population unil in an interview he revealed that he was an atheist. After this, the public turned on him and sent him thousands of letters with death threats. This upset the kind-hearted Burbank, who tried to amiably reply to each letter, so much that it ultimately led to his death} . . . he was misled into believing that logic, kindliness, and reason could convince and help the bigoted. He fell sick. The sickness was fated to be his last. What killed Luther Burbank, at just that time and in just that abrupt and tragic fashion, was his baffled, yearning, desperate effort to make people understand. His desire to help them, to clarify their minds, and to induce them to substitute fact for hysteria drove him beyond his strength. He grew suddenly old attempting to make reasonable a people which had been unreasonable through twenty stiff-necked generations. . . He died, not a martyr to truth, but a victim of the fatuity of blasting dogged falsehood.”

“icen que a lo largo de nuestra vida tenemos dos grandes amores; uno con el que te casas o vives para siempre, puede que el padre o la madre de tus hijos, esa persona con la que consigues la compenetración máxima para estar el resto de tu vida junto a ella. Y dicen que hay un segundo gran amor, una persona que perderás siempre. Alguien con quien naciste conectado, tan conectado que las fuerzas de la química escapan a la razón y te impedirá, siempre, alcanzar un final feliz. Hasta que cierto día dejarás de intentarlo. Te rendirás y buscarás a esa otra persona que acabarás encontrando. Pero te aseguro que no pasarás una sola noche sin necesitar otro beso suyo, o tan siquiera discutir una vez más. Todos sabéis de qué estoy hablando, porque mientras estabais leyendo esto os ha venido su nombre a la cabeza. Te librarás de él o de ella, dejarás de sufrir, conseguirás encontrar la paz (le sustituirás por la calma), pero te aseguro que no pasará un día en que desees que estuviera aquí para perturbarte… Porque, a veces, se desprende más energía discutiendo con alguien a quien amas que haciendo el amor con alguien a quien aprecias.”

“When I was twelve, my sixth-grade English class went on a field trip to see Franco Zeffirelli’s film adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. From that moment forward I dreamed that someday I’d meet my own Juliet. I’d marry her and I would love her with the same passion and intensity as Romeo. The fact that their marriage lasted fewer than three days before they both were dead didn’t seem to affect my fantasy. Even if they had lived, I don’t think their relationship could have survived. Let’s face it, being that emotionally aflame, sexually charged, and transcendentally eloquent every single second can really start to grate on a person’s nerves. However, if I could find someone to love just a fraction of the way that Montague loved his Capulet, then marrying her would be worth it.”

“For a moment she believed he had left, but as she shifted away from the wall she sensed him there beside the bed. He was very close. Wretched curiosity! But she would fight it and not look. “Katherine,” he whispered, his breath rolling in a warm wave across her cheek. A traitor tear spilled out, the humiliation was too much to contain. Gently, a finger dabbed the wetness from her skin. He said it again, softly, as though it pleased him just to say it, “Katherine.” “Viktor!” the accented voice bellowed from below. And then the shadow was gone. Darkness overwhelmed her then and carried her away to a land of crows and mocking strangers.”

“Tell me that you don’t love me, and I’ll leave you alone. In this time or the next. Tell me that you don’t feel free. Tell me you can’t stand the way I look at you. But don’t tell me that I’m not allowed to love you. I will love you through every minute, every day, and every year for the rest of my life. My love for you is timeless.”

“Tomoya: Nagisa! (gasps) Nagisa! Nagisa: (weakly) Tomoya… Tomoya: She’s here, Nagisa. She’s-she's right here! You can hear her, right? That’s our baby, that’s our baby crying. Nagisa: (weakly) Y-yeah… Tomoya: Here, look! I got to hold her before anyone else, see? Nagisa: Oh…she turned out so cute… Tomoya: This is our little baby, Nagisa. It’s our little Ushio. Nagisa: Hey there, Shio… Tomoya: It’s a girl, she’s as healthy as can be! Nagisa: Yeah… I’m so glad I could have her here with you, Tomoya… I’m sorry I had to make Shio work so hard for it, but at least we were all together… Tomoya: You did a great job. I mean it. Nagisa: (Sighs) Hey…I’m sorry, but I’m starting to feel a little tired. Could you let me rest? Just for a second…? Tomoya: Come on, let’s talk just-just a little longer, okay? You don’t have to say anything, just listen. Come on, you have to look at our baby. She kinda looks like a cute little monkey, doesn’t she? See? She’s so tiny. Here, I’m going to call her name, okay? Ushio. Hey, it’s daddy, Ushio. And this is mommy, see? Look at her, see? (Sniffles and laughs softly) She’s ignoring me. Guess, she doesn’t understand yet. I’ll bet she’ll grow up before we know it. She’ll be starting school. We’ll have to go clothes shopping with her. We’ll have open house and school festivals to go to. We’ll do it all as a family, even though I used to make fun of that stuff growing up. (chuckles) Nagisa? (gasps) Nagisa. Here, it’s Ushio’s cheek. Come on. Hey… (Nagisa Breathes heavily) Tomoya: Nagisa. You told me you’d always be by my side. You said, we’d always be together. You promised me that, remember? Over and over again. We both promised. That was my only dream. Nothing good ever happened to me until I met you. I thought I had a crappy life but even someone useless like me finally found something to live for. Right, Nagisa? Right? Nagisa… NAGISA!!! Tomoya thinks of flashback when they first met: Nagisa's voice echoing in his head: Do you like this school? I have to say that I love it very very much! But soon, everything changes. Well, at least it does eventually. Fun things, happy things, they’ll all eventually change someday, you know. But, do you think you can still love this place anyway? (Instead of meeting her Tomoya turns the other direction and walks away) We never should have met. We should have kept going down our separate paths. We never would have gone out. We never would have gotten married and Ushio never would have been born. Then, at least I wouldn’t have to go through so much suffering. (sniffle) (sighs) We never should have met.”

“darkness falls upon Humanity and faces become terrible things that wanted more than there was. all our days are marked with unexpected affronts - some disastrous, others less so but the process is wearing and continuous. attrition rules. most give way leaving empty spaces where people should be. and now as we ready to self-destruct there is very little left to kill which makes the tragedy less and more much much more.”