Crying About Him Quotes & Sayings

And then the years were gone, and he was back at Winterfell once more, wearing a quilted leather coat in place of mail and plate. His sword was not made of wood, and it was Robb who stood facing him, not Iron Emmett.
Every morning they had trailed together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne."
That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell. — George R R Martin

I don't think there are any rules for how you're supposed to act when someone you care about dies, sweetheart. I think you just have to figure it out as you go along. Sometimes you'll feel like crying, sometimes you won't, sometimes you'll be raging at him for dying on you. You just have to remember that all of those are OK. So is whatever else your head comes up with." "On — Tana French

Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."
"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"
"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. — J.K. Rowling

Brenda is staring at Roamer and the rest of the crying herd, her eyes dry and angry. I know what she's feeling. Here are these people who called him 'freak' and never paid attention to him, except to make fun of him or spread rumors about him, and now they are carrying on like professional mourners, the ones you can hire in Taiwan or the Middle East to sing, cry, and crawl on the ground. His family is just as bad. — Jennifer Niven

I find myself thinking back to something I saw on the local news about a year ago. A teen football player had died in a car accident. The cameras showed all his friends after the funeral - these big hulking guys, all in tears, saying, "I loved him. We all loved him so much." I started crying, too, and I wondered if these guys had told the football player they loved him while he was alive, or whether it was only with death that this strange word, love, could be used. I vowed then and there that I would never hesitate to speak up to the people I loved. They deserved to know they gave meaning to my life. They deserved to know I thought the world of them. — David Levithan

Feel. Grieve. Let yourself fell the anger at the fact that he was taken from you. Feel the loss of him . Feel the sadness and the missing him. Don't block it out, don't cut so it so stop, don't drink yourself numb. Just sit and let it all rip you apart. And then get up and keep breathing. One breath at a time. One day at a time. Wake up, and be shredded. Cry for a while. Then stop crying and go about your day. You're not okay but you're alive, and you will be okay, someday — Jasinda Wilder

I don't know why I always feel like crying when I'm around him. When I think about him. When I read about him. It's like my emotions are still tethered to him somehow and I can't figure out how to cut the strings. — Colleen Hoover

He was a stranger, an alien creature, impossible to reach or understand. And still she wanted to try. "Tell me what you need."
"This," he whispered, watching her lips move against his palm. "Just this." He rose over her, pinning her against the cushions, and stroked her hair with a tenderness that seemed misplaced among the sultry sensations it awakened in her.
"Do your clients pleasure you?" she asked hoarsely, her head tilting and following his fingers as they massaged her neck.
"If that's what they want. You pleasure me, Billie. The sight of you. The sound of your voice. I want to hear it all sorts of ways. Laughing. Whispering. Moaning. Crying out." He caught her mouth in a lush, hungry kiss, and there was nothing sweet or grateful about it this time. Erotic delight arrowed through her with each sleek thrust of his tongue between her lips, a sultry promise of what he would do to her if she let him. — Shelby Reed

Is he crying? I lean forward for a better look and find him staring right at me.
Oh,no.Oh no oh no oh NO.
He stops. "Anna?"
"Um.Hi." My face is on fire. I want to rewind this reel,shut it off, destroy it.
His expression runs from confusion to anger. "Were you listening to that?"
"I'm sorry-"
"I can't believe you were eavesdropping!"
"It was an accident.I was passing by,and ... you were there. And I've heard so much about your father,and I was curious.I'm sorry."
"Well," he says, "I hope what you saw met your grandest expectations." He stalks past me,but I grab his arm.
"Wait! I don't even speak French, remember?"
"Do you proise," he says slowly, "that you didn't understand a single word of our conversation?"
I let go of him. "No.I heard you. I heard the whole thing. — Stephanie Perkins

When God is about to bestow some great blessing on His church, it is often His manner, in the first place, so to order things in His providence as to show His church their great need of it, and to bring them into distress for want of it, and so put them upon crying earnestly to Him for it. — Jonathan Edwards

When God wants to drill a man, And thrill a man, And skill a man, When God wants to mold a man To play the noblest part; When He yearns with all His heart To create so great and bold a man That all the world shall be amazed, Watch His methods, watch His ways! How He ruthlessly perfects Whom He royally elects! How He hammers him and hurts him, And with mighty blows converts him Into trial shapes of clay which Only God understands; While his tortured heart is crying And he lifts beseeching hands! How He bends but never breaks When his good He undertakes; How He uses whom He chooses, And with every purpose fuses him; But every act induces him To try His splendor out - God knows what He's about. SELECTED Life is a quarry, out of which we are to mold and chisel and complete a character. GOETHE — Lettie B. Cowman

My grandfather was crying. The kind of quiet that is quiet and a secret. The kind of crying that only I noticed. I thought about him going into my mom's room when she was little and hitting my mom and holding up her report card and saying that her bad grades would never happen again. And I think now that maybe he meant my older brother. Or my sister. Or me. That he would make sure that he was the one to work in a mill. I don't know if that's good or bad. I don't know if it's better to have your kids be happy and not go to college. I don't know if it's better to be close with your daughter or make sure she has a better life than you do. I just don't know. — Stephen Chbosky

I thought about how my great-grandparents had starved to death. I thought about their wasted bodies being fed to incinerators because people they didn't know hated them. I thought about how the children who lived in this house had been burned up and blown apart because a pilot who didn't care pushed a button. I thought about how my grandfather's family had been taken from him and how because of that my dad grew up feeling like he didn't have a dad. And how I had acute stress and nightmares and was sitting alone in a falling down house and crying hot stupid tears all over my shirt. All because of a seventy year old hurt that had somehow been passed down to me like some poisonous heirloom. — Ransom Riggs

I had worked for this old man and once he told me that he had spent his whole life thinking about his career and his work. And he was fifty-two and it suddenly struck him that he had never really given anything of himself. His life was for no one and nothing. He was almost crying saying that. — Celine

Why do we cry when somebody die, we can't bring him, back we just lose time crying and feeling miserable and after few days we just find that we can't bring him!

(Note: I have Written a story about my dog which died, in the series of The Life Of One KId) — Deyth Banger

I walked into school and saw this kid wearing the same shirt that I had. I looked at him and said,"You stole my shirt!" I got in his face about it to the point where he started crying, but I was convinced he stole it! I remember and go, "Why was I so angry about that?" Even now when Kevin or Joe has taken one of my shirts I think back and laugh! — Nick Jonas

Let me tell you girls a story, short and sweet. In high school, I was a junior varsity cheerleader dating a senior who was up for football scholarships. I'd slept with him several times willingly. One night I wasn't in the mood, but he was. So he held me down and forced me. The few people I told about it - including my best friend - pointed out what would happen to him if I told. They stressed the fact that I hadn't been a virgin, that we were dating, that we'd had sex before. So I kept quiet. I never even told my mother. That boy put bruises on my body. I was crying and begging him to stop and he didn't. That's called rape, ladies. — Tammara Webber

Once, when I was about ten, we were approaching the ranch after veering north to look at some pasturage when we saw a small barefoot boy racing along the hot road with terror in his face. My father just managed to stop him. Though incoherent with fear, the boy managed to inform us that his little brother had just drowned in the horse trough. My father grabbed the boy and we went racing up to the farmhouse, where the anguished mother, the drowned child in her arms, was sobbing, crying out in German, and rocking in a rocking chair. Fortunately the boy was not quite dead. My father managed to get him away from his mother long enough to stretch him out on the porch and squeeze the water out of him. In a while the boy began to belch dirty fluids and then to breathe again. The crisis past, we went on home. The graceful German mother brought my father jars of her best sauerkraut for many, many years. — Larry McMurtry

Nathan laughed with little real humor. "Maybe that's because I was," he said. "I disapproved of the way Andrew treated you. And i really disapproved of the way I felt about you. You were my roommate's high school sweetheart, and even now, when you're crying over him, I just ... " I felt like I was standing on the precipice, and my decision to jump or not was the most important one I could make in my life. "What?" I whispered. He look at me, and his eyes were very, very serious. "I just want to kiss you," he said. — Alicia Thompson

You know, when I came home after our day in the city, I just crashed, thinking about Remi and how much I missed him. And then the next day was worse, And when you walked up to me at that ice cream machine, I just felt myself crumble inside. Around Remi, I felt like I was always trying to act like I was good enough. But around you, I don't want to pretend or hide. That's why I didn't say anything in the cafeteria that day, I knew that in five seconds, I'd be crying on your shoulder."
"That's what it's there for, Ethan."
Alek leaned in, took Ethan's face in his hands, and kissed him. — Michael Barakiva

For a moment he thought she was about to hit him, which would have been bad, or even start crying, which would have been much, much worse. — Neil Gaiman

Dad phoned to wish us happy anniversary, and I picked up the phone and I was going to play it cool, but then I started crying when I started talking - I was doing the awful chick talk-cry: mwaha-waah-gwwahh-and-waaa-wa - so I had to tell him what happened, and he told me I should open a bottle of wine and wallow in it for a bit. Dad is always a proponent of a good indulgent sulk. Still, Nick will be angry that I told Rand, and of course Rand will do his fatherly thing, pat Nick on the shoulder and say, "Heard you had some emergency drinking to do on your anniversary, Nicky." And chuckle. So Nick will know, and he will be angry with me because he wants my parents to believe he's perfect - he beams when I tell them stories about what a flawless son-in-law he is. Except for tonight. I know, I know, I'm being a girl. — Gillian Flynn

On the way back to the office- I get a cab, on expenses, naturally- I decide that I could quite like Ed. Maybe I could even fancy him, and maybe the fact that I'm not thinking about him that much when I'm not with him is a good thing, maybe it means this is a proper relationship, not just lust, or the equivalent to a teenage crush. Because quite frankly I'm sick of falling madly in love and spending twenty-four hours a day thinking about them and crying with misery when they don't phone. I'm sick of being the kind of girl who, when they say jump, says how high. I'm sick of always, always being the one to fall in love and get hurt. And maybe this is how it should be, getting on with my life and not putting all my energies into a relationship. — Jane Green

One day I told him about the boys of the neighborhood, about their mocking.
He said, "That's because they don't understand."
"They should understand, I said. I didn't want to cry, but I was crying.
"If your mother had diabetes, what would they say?"
"I don't know."
"This is like diabetes. She's not well. That's all."
Was that what he told himself? That she was not well? That she might get better? I don't know. — Jerry Pinto

Most bullies are the product of a stressful and often abusive home life. Next time a bully threatens or attacks you, just yell, 'Don't abuse me like your parents abuse you!' Then call children's services and tell them you saw this bully crying in the bathroom and you're worried about him. Bam! He just got moved to a foster home. — Eugene Mirman

When it was over, I was so happy, I felt like crying. I wanted to win this one for Casey. After what I did in Brooklyn, he could have forgotten about me and who would blame him? But he gave me another chance and I'm grateful. — Don Larsen

I think he came to die with me," I say. I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. If I can keep breathing, I can stop crying. I didn't need or want him to die with me. I wanted to keep him safe. What an idiot, I think, but my heart isn't in it.
"That's ridiculous," he says. "That doesn't make any sense. He's eighteen; he'll find another girlfriend once you're dead. And he's stupid if he doesn't know that."
Tears run down my cheeks, hot at first and then cold. I close my eyes. "If you think that's what it's about ... " I swallow another sob. " ... you're the stupid one. — Veronica Roth

What about you, Neville?" said Ron. "Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me - he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned - but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced - all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. — J.K. Rowling

Man. "STOP CRYING, DAMMIT! I'M SICK OF YOUR CRYING!" Mark clutched his knees and tried to stop crying. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He stuck his hands between his knees and bent over. He had to stop crying and think of something. On a television show once some nut was about to jump off a building, and this cool cop just kept talking to him and talking to him, and finally the nut started talking back and of course did not jump. Mark quickly smelled for gas, and asked, "Why are you — John Grisham

His Malina was a mystery, a lovely and welcome mystery. He couldn't resist smoothing his palm over her silky hair. Stroking her like that, over and over again filled him with peace. Concerns about his mill and Steafan and all that Wilhelm might expect from him floated away on a cloud of contentment. Until he felt warm wetness on his skin where her face nestled. "Are ye weeping?" "No," she said, but her voice caught on a sob. "There," he said, "now we have both told a lie to the other. We are even." Whatever had her distraught, her heart wasn't so heavy that she couldn't give a small chuckle. "Maybe I'm crying just a little," she said. "It's fine, though. Don't worry. Get some sleep." "I canna. My da told me a good husband doesna lay his head down for the night if his household isna in order and his wife isna content." "He sounds like a very responsible man. Like father, like son." No one had given him as much to feel proud over as this woman. — Jessi Gage

But Balthamos couldn't tell; he only knew that half his heart had been extinguished. He couldn't keep still: he flew up again, scouring the sky as if to seek out Baruch in this cloud or that, calling, crying, calling; and then he'd be overcome with guilt, and fly down to urge Will to hide and keep quiet, and promise to watch over him tirelessly; and then the pressure of his grief would crush him to the ground, and he'd remember every instance of kindness and courage that Baruch had ever shown, and there were thousands, and he'd forgotten none of them; and he'd cry that a nature so gracious could ever be snuffed out, and he'd soar into the skies again, casting about in every direction, reckless and wild and stricken, cursing the air, the clouds, the stars. — Philip Pullman

It was comforting for only a moment. Then Joshua realized that the dude still had a seriously huge knife in his hand.
The part of him that was crying like a kicked puppy took off running. Unfortunately it took the rest of him with it.
"No! Nononono!" He cried even as he bolted. This was what scared him about being a werewolf. He wasn't in control of his body anymore. Because of his last name and small size, he'd always been a target of bullies. He'd learned early that they could hurt him but they couldn't control him if he didn't let them. And then he learned martial arts and they couldn't even hurt him anymore. In the last twenty-four hours, it had been as if he was strapped into a rollercoaster: all he could do was go for the ride and scream a lot. — Wen Spencer

There's something to be said about practice-even if I'm not actually practicing anything. Just hanging out in the water, holding my breath, withering my skin to grandma-like wrinkles.
I pull off the flippers Toraf brought me and chuck them onto shore. I keep my back turned while he maneuvers his shorts into place. "Are you decent?" I call after a few seconds. No matter how many times I tell him I can't see into the water yet, he insists I'm just trying to look at his "eel." For crying out loud.
"Oh, I'm more than decent. I'm actually quite a catch."
I couldn't agree more. Toraf is good-looking, funny, and considerate-which makes me question Rayna's attitude. — Anna Banks

to the Piazzale Loreto and machine-gunned them to death. I saw . . ." He broke down. "Tullio was one of them." Uncle Albert and his father looked gut-shot. Aunt Greta said, "That's not true! You must have seen someone else." Pino, crying, said, "It was him. Tullio was so brave. Yelling at the men who were about to shoot him, calling them cowards . . . and . . . oh God, it was . . . horrible." He went to his father and hugged him while Uncle Albert held Aunt Greta, who had turned hysterical. "I hate them," she said. "My own people and I hate them." When she'd calmed down, Uncle Albert said, "I have to go tell his mother." "She — Mark T. Sullivan

I don't know much about contemporary music. I do have an iPod but I listen to a lot of old blues. I listen to John Lee Hooker and Elmore James. I have been listening to them for years. I was obsessed with Van Morrison for years. I went to see him recently where he performed Astral Weeks. I just spent the entire night crying, but I was really obsessed with Van Morrison. — Robert Pattinson

Not my finest hour," he says, shaking his head.
"You realize you did it for no reason," I say. I tell him about talking to my dad and explain that I was crying because of that.
"That information would have been useful BEFORE I shoved him in the pool. — Heather Hepler

He takes two steps back. Closer to the portal.
I can't stop myself. "Ben," I call. And I'm not even embarrassed about how helpless my voice sounds.
Don't go.
"I'll come back for you." He takes another step back. "I promise."
Stay.
"Janelle Tenner," he says. "I will always fucking love you." And then he takes one more step back. Into the portal.
And the blackness swallows him whole. — Elizabeth Norris

Sally wasn't crying about their dead mother or her cancer. She was crying because her husband, Alfonso, had left her after twenty years for a young woman. It seemed a brutal thing to do, just after her mastectomy. She was devastated, but no, she wouldn't ever divorce him, even though the woman was pregnant and he wanted to marry her.

"They can just wait until I die. I'll be dead soon, probably next year..." Sally wept but the ocean drowned out the sound. — Lucia Berlin

When Mother and I learned that Father was dying, Father asked me to sing for him," she said. "Mother insisted that I only sing songs from their youthful days together. She wanted me to take her mind off Father's pain, But when she stepped away, Father asked me to sing songs about pain. About loss. About the world without him. When I played those songs, he would cry. It was the only way he could cry. And now it's the only way I know to cry."

"We need you to lead us in crying, Lesyl, or we'll drown in unshed tears." [King Cal-Raven replied] — Jeffrey Overstreet

holding it secure, sort of. I held out the posters and slid them through the opening. "I thought you might want these." She took them and then placed her face closer to the opening - I could see that she'd been crying. "They took my stapler." "Yep, well . . . You have to have a concealed/carry permit for those things here in Wyoming." She smiled. "I nailed him, didn't I?" "Stapled him, to be exact. Don't feel so bad about it. I did something like that in Vietnam once. — Craig Johnson

Hunter's dead," Taylor said without preamble. "It was these . . . these things. They came crawling up out of him and were eating him, oh God, I mean, it was like . . . I mean he was crying and Dekka prayed with him and he tried to fry his own brain just like he did with Harry only I guess it didn't work, I guess he couldn't do it, so Sam . . ." She swallowed. "Anyone have some water?"
"What about Sam?" Astrid demanded.
"He did it for him. Sam. I mean, he . . . Hunter was, you know . . . so Sam." She pantomimed raising her hands, like Sam, like he would do when using his power.
Astrid closed her eyes and crossed herself.
"Rest in peace," Edilio said and crossed himself as well.
"Sam burned the boy?" Howard asked. Then, bitterly sarcastic said, "Yeah, you all pray to Jesus. Because Jesus is really providing a lot of help here. Sounds to me like Sam was the one doing what had to be done. — Michael Grant

If it makes you feel any better, he's been all sad doll lately too."
"What are you talking about, Chels?"
Chelsea stopped walking and stared at Violet.
"Jay. I'm talking about Jay, Vi. I thought you might want to know that you're not the only one who's hurting. He's been moping around school, making it hard to even look at him. He's messed up ... bad." Just like the other night in Violet's bedroom, something close to ... sympathy crossed Chelsea's face.
Violet wasn't sure how to respond.
Fortunately sympathetic Chelsea didn't stick around for long. She seemed to get a grip on herself, and like a switch had been flipped, the awkward moment was over and her friend was back, Chelsea-style: "I swear, every time I see him, I'm halfway afraid he's gonna start crying like a girl or ask to borrow a tampon or something. Seriously, Violet, it's disgusting. Really. Only you can make it stop. Please make it stop. — Kimberly Derting

Our seats were in the balcony. Nosebleeds. But you don't go to Yo-Yo Ma for the view, and the sound was incredible. That man has a way of making the cello sound like a crying woman one minute, a laughing child the next. Listening to him, I'm always reminded of why I started playing cell in the first place
that there is something so human and expressive about it. — Gayle Forman

I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him for ever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset.
Then I look up and there he was, three metres away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking and crying. — Suzanne Collins

I wrote 'Lakeside View Apartment Suites' with Roman in my arms. He was about a month old. I was playing left-handed and finally handed him over. On the demo of it, you can hear him crying in the next room. — John Darnielle

I'll tell you all about it, but let's eat first. I've had nothing to eat. Although I was offered some raw squirrel. Canned pudding, that's what I want. I've been dreaming about it."
She hauled out a can and feverishly worked the can opener. She didn't wait for a dish or spoon, but thrust her hand in and scooped some into her mouth. Then she stood transfixed, overwhelmed by the wonderful sweetness of it.
She was crying when she said, "I'm sorry, I've forgotten how to be polite. I'll get you guys your own can."
Sam hobbled over and scooped some pudding of his own, following her lead. "I'm way past polite myself," he said, although she could see he was a little appalled by her wolfish behavior. She decided then that she liked him. — Michael Grant

I tried to go to sleep with my headphones still on, but then after a while my mom and dad came in, and my mom grabbed Bluie from the shelf and hugged him to her stomach, and my dad sat down in my desk chair, and without crying he said, 'You are not a grenade, not to us. Thinking about you dying makes us sad, Hazel, but you are not a grenade. You are amazing. You can't know, sweetie, because you've never had a baby become a brilliant young reader with a side interest in horrible television shows, but the joy you bring us is so much greater than the sadness we feel about your illness.'
'Okay,' I said.
'Really,' my dad said. 'I wouldn't bullshit you about this. If you were more trouble than you're worth, we'd just toss you out on the streets.'
'We're not sentimental people,' Mom added, deadpan. 'We'd leave you at an orphanage with a note pinned to your pajamas. — John Green

What would you think about us doing the ceremony together?"

"The Crying Pools ceremony?" Kami asked. "The one Lillian said was dangerous?"

"Yeah," Ash said. "I mean, we both know it's a big decision. But it's something to think over. It might make all the difference to the town. Look, do you want to come in?" He stepped a little aside. The night air was pulling frost-tipped fingers through Kami's hair, but she stayed where she was.

"Did Jared say that? That it was a big decision?"

"And we both needed to think it through," Ash said.

"Think it through?" Kami repeated, above the sound of the wind. "Jared? Don't you know him at all? If he sounds reasonable, or sensible, or capable of any sort of rational thought, it means he's lying through his teeth! What did you tell him about the ceremony?"

They stared at each other for a moment of horrified silence. "I told him how to do it," — Sarah Rees Brennan

What is it?
Nothing. I had a bad dream.
What did you dream about?
Nothing.
Are you okay?
No.
He put his arms around him and held him. It's okay, he said.
I was crying. But you didnt wake up.
I'm sorry. I was just so tired.
I meant in the dream. — Cormac McCarthy

Just as I'm about to pull him closer to deepen the kiss, he breaks away. "I shouldn't kiss you when you've been crying."
"Yes, you should."
"Yes, I should. — Tessa Bailey

I think about death all the time, but only in a romantic, self-serving way, beginning, most often, with my tragic illness and ending with my funeral. I see my brother squatting beside my grave, so racked by guilt that he's unable to stand. "If only I'd paid him back that twenty-five thousand dollars I borrowed," he says. I see Hugh, drying his eyes on the sleeve of his suit jacket, then crying even harder when he remembers I bought it for him. — David Sedaris

On her last visit, the girl stole one of his family photographs right out of the frame. He thinks this means she is starting to care about him, too. Now whenever he looks at the empty frame, Sawtooth is moved to tears. He has to stare straight up at the ceiling, a loophole that prevents fluid from falling out of the eyes, thus saving a man the embarrassment of crying like a damn fool infant. — Karen Russell

They told me my family had come. I followed the staff person to the visitor's room to find my father and my younger brothers had come. To be honest, I did not recognize any of them. I greeted them, and then just looked at them. My father also stared at me. He asked me if I knew him, and I told him that I did not. He asked me where my home was, and I told him it was in Atiak. My father asked me again, "What is your father's name?" I told him, "My father's name is L. Marcellino." He asked me, "What was your father doing at the time you were abducted?" I replied that my father was a veterinary doctor. He then said, "I am your father. The person you are talking about is me." I began to cry. My father also started crying. I was confused; I did not know for sure if this was my real father. We cried for almost an hour before my brothers told him, "Dad, if you continue to cry, Evelyn will not stop crying." When — Evelyn Amony

And now, as I'm lying alone in my own bed, I keep thinking about writhing against him last night, naked and vulnerable. Even after we'd both risen and fallen, peaked and plummeted, even after Marcus was physically shrinking from inside me, I couldn't stop clutching, crying, trying. Trying to pull him deeper, deeper, deeper within.
Trying to make him more a part of me than I am myself. — Megan McCafferty

Jeronimo, my grandfather, swine-herder and story-teller, feeling death about to arrive and take him, went and said goodbye to the trees in the yard, one by one, embracing them and crying because he knew he wouldn't see them again. To truly appreciate life we must remember that nothing lasts for ever and take nothing we enjoy for granted. In so doing we stay grateful and happy for all our good fortune. — Jose Saramago

You're with Hunter." It was more of a question than a statement.
Tears welled up in my eyes. "But it hasn't been right. It hasn't been you. I can't ... I haven't been able to - " I sucked in a deep breath. "I can't be a real girlfriend to him when all I can do is think about you."
"Ah, shit, Pepper." Still holding my face, he lowered his forehead to mine. "I'm not going through this again with you just so you can run when you get scared that I'm not like some ideal you built up in your head. I love you. I'm fucking in love with you, but it's all or nothing. I won't do this again unless it's going to be like that."
Now I was crying, choking on my sobs. "I know. I want that. It took me so long to figure that out, but I know now. You are the safest thing I'll ever find." I deliberately repeated his words, holding his gaze and letting them sink in. "Because you love me. Because I love you. — Sophie Jordan

What about a man who sits down to wonder
Why life has cheated him?
Thinks about his situation
Hangs his head and cries
Will we pretend, his problems don't exist?
He's reaching out for help-will we selfishly resist?
What about your brother? He's crying
What about your brother? He's dying
What about your brother? — Mitch Albom

Stop!" His voice rings out sharply, hard as a slap. He releases me and I stumble backward. "Alex is dead, do you hear me? All of that - what we felt, what it meant - that's done now, okay? Buried. Blown away."
"Alex!"
He has started to turn away; now he whirls around. The moon lights him stark white and furious, a camera image, two-dimensional, gripped by the flash. "I don't love you, Lena. Do you hear me? I never loved you."
The air goes. Everything goes. "I don't believe you." I'm crying so hard, I can hardly speak.
He takes one step toward me. And now I don't recognize him at all. He has transformed entirely, turned into a stranger. "It was a lie. Okay? It was all a lie. Craziness, like they always said. Just forget about it. Forget it ever happened. — Lauren Oliver

He'll be cross if he sees I have been crying. They don't like you to cry. He doesn't cry. I wish to God I could make him cry. I wish I could make him cry and tread the floor and feel his heart heavy and big and festering in him. I wish I could hurt him like hell.
He doesn't wish that about me. I don't think he even knows how he makes me feel. I wish he could know, without my telling him. They don't like you to tell them they've made you cry. They don't like you to tell them you're unhappy because of them. If you do, they think you're possessive and exacting. And then they hate you. They hate you whenever you say anything you really think. You always have to keep playing little games. Oh, I thought we didn't have to; I thought this was so big I could say whatever I meant. I guess you can't, ever. I guess there isn't ever anything big enough for that. — Dorothy Parker