Never Cry Again Quotes & Sayings

As he was shaking off, it came to Jake Chambers that the Pere would never do this again, or grin at him and point his finger; or cross himself before eating. They had killed him. Taken his life. Stopped his breath and pulse. Save for dreams, the Pere was now gone from the story. Jake began to cry. — Stephen King

Being a baby is hard.
You born in a new world, whole wide world like it has no boundaries.
You face new life that is extremely different with your previous life.
You hear people talking, but never understand.
You want to say something, but you don't know how, so you just cry out loud. And you hate the sound of it, so you keep crying again.
Being a baby is hard, but sometimes they do have fun, and all the time they survive. — Alvi Syahrin

Each time I felt the worst kind of fear. What if it didn't work? What if I failed Beth? I'd ... He moved his neck, as if working out a kink. He'd never be the same. Tears climbed up my throat again. I wanted to cry for him, for Beth, but most of all for all, for the people they once were but never would be again. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I cried, a bit, as a spoke to Belinda on my mobile phone, in a quiet corner, perhaps the only quiet corner in Jaipur. I told her how I'd hoped Paul would read the forward, that he'd read how much I admired his work and how much I admired him, how much I just plain liked him and loved him. But, even as I spoke, I knew: Paul had always known that. He'd seen in on my face every time we met. What made me cry was the obvious, stupid fact that we'd never meet again. — Roddy Doyle

The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again, pronounce a text, Cry hem; and reading what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene! — William Cowper

Women are sewers just like we are, the once pure boys recognize with a start; it's raw sewage that produces fertilization; once you understand that you can be fond of yourself and members of the Opposite Sex, but you can never quite see them again as ice cream bars. I, the author, don't really mind this, for I love all girls and love to hug and kiss them and cheer them up when they cry, and have them perform all the same services for me; and a woman's saliva is certainly a miracle, think of all those enzymes and germs; and if I took and wrote the chemicals down on a sheet of paper, all COOOHs and sighs, it would look pretty, just like a face all pretty, like the dear round moon-face of her who loves you or the creamy-freckled skin and blue eyes and heavenly hair of that Irish beauty back in college, so don't think I'm complaining. — William T. Vollmann

The earth will never be the same again
Rock, water, tree, iron, share this greif
As distant stars participate in the pain.
A candle snuffed, a falling star or leaf,
A dolphin death, O this particular loss
A Heaven-mourned; for if no angel cried
If this small one was tossed away as dross,
The very galaxies would have lied.
How shall we sing our love's song now
In this strange land where all are born to die?
Each tree and leaf and star show how
The universe is part of this one cry,
Every life is noted and is cherished,
and nothing loved is ever lost or perished. — Madeleine L'Engle

Touching him again reminded her of Versailles.She wanted to thank him for saving her from marrying the king. And to beg him never to hurt himself again as he'd done in Tibet. She wanted to ask what he'd dreamed about when he'd slept for days after she'd died in Prussia. She wanted to hear what he'd said to Luschka right before she died that awful night in Moscow. She wanted to pour out her love, and break down and cry,and let him know that every second of every lifetime she'd ben through,she had missed him with all her heart. — Lauren Kate

How do you know when you're in love?
...
When you look into his eyes, and you're more alive than you've ever felt," Annebet said. "When the very breath you take sends both fear and joy rushing through you, and you feel as if you might die if you can't see him again
right now. When you want to shout and laugh and cry and curse all at once, when you burn for him to touch you, to make love to you, even though all your life you've been told that you mustn't, that you shouldn't, that you can't. It's when you feel yourself on the verge of becoming everything you've evre dreamed of being, when you can nearly touch your own potential because this other person gives you all of his strength and his power and you know he'd give you the very breath from his lungs if you asked. And you realize that you'll never be alone again because there's a piece of him that you'll carry with you, forever, in your heart. A heart that is infinitely bigger than it was just a week or two ago. — Suzanne Brockmann

I sank my head onto my knees. I was glad of the darkness. I closed the tin lid and pressed it tight. I promised myself I would never open it again. Never. I would never taste it. I would never even try. I was glad of the darkness, because in the darkness, no one can see you cry. — Gill Lewis

Americans should never come to Europe,' she said, and tried to laugh and began to cry, 'it means they never can be happy again. What's the good of an American who isn't happy? Happiness was all we had. — James Baldwin

We all get our hearts broken. We get fucked up and throw up and we cry and listen to sad songs and say we're never doing that again. But to be alive is to do it again. To love is to risk everything — Caroline Kepnes

You have never fought for anything in your life. You write poems and articles about slavery and the murder of Indians and hope something will change. You fight what does not come near your door, professors. You've inherited everything in your lives and do not know what it is to cry for your bread! Well, with what other expectations did I come to this country? What should I complain of? The greatest bard had no home but exile. One day to come, perhaps, I shall walk on my own shores again, one more with true friends, before I leave this earth. — Matthew Pearl

My heart is broken this day. My soul cries out in agony, but I recognize my pain for what it really is. Our shared agony is born of greed, for our fathers, mothers, and friends are all in a better place now. Never again will they know sadness. Never again will they know hunger, thirst, loneliness or pain, yet still we grieve. In reality, we grieve for ourselves. We grieve because we can no longer speak with them, hug them or hold them. We can no longer lean on them when we need a shoulder to cry on. But make no mistake, my brothers and sisters: They are perfect now. Perfect, as all of us will be when the gods, in their infinite wisdom, decide it is our time. — Jeff Gunzel

We stayed at a cheap hotel that had a view out the window more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. The water was wickedly blue. A cliff of dark rock jutted out of the sea. I wanted to cry because I was sure I would never get to be in such a place again. — Jenny Offill

Dance, dance for me
Dance with the stars
Laugh, laugh for me
Wherever you are

Sing, sing out loud
Like angels do
Remember me
The way I'll remember you

Love, love for me
With all your soul
Cry, cry for me
As I grow old

See, see me from the edge of Heaven's eye
Feel for me 'cause feelings never die

I'll remember you
My very special friend
Until we meet again

(By Carrie Hamilton, Carol Burnett's daughter) — Carol Burnett

When the past is mentioned, some cry! When the past is mentioned, some ponder! When the past is mentioned, never again comes into the mind of some people. When the past is mentioned, some recall their had I known! The past is past, but its footprints never go! — Ernest Agyemang Yeboah

Gail looked out at the water, wanting to hear it again, that soft foghorn sound, and she did, but it was inside her this time, the sound was down deep inside her, a long wordless cry for things that weren't never going to happen. — Joe Hill

I had never done a Director's Cut narration on Beaches so I did in time for the release of the DVD. It was a great visit and I do a whole-behind-the-scenes thing and I tell stories about Bette [Mudler] and Barbara Hershey and everybody and that was fun. It made me cry again. — Garry Marshall

When Allah (swt) decrees that a door in your life is to be opened, no matter how hard you try to close it, no matter how far you run away from it, it will remain open until you walk through. When Allah (swt) decrees that a door is to be closed, no matter how many times you knock on that door, try to break it down, or cry on your knees in front of it, begging it to open again, it will never be opened. Grieve in front of that closed door if you must. Stand there for a time and look at it. Hold your hands over your heart and press down to calm it's quickened pained rhythm. Then know- know beyond the shadow of a doubt, know in your heart of hearts- that when you trust Allah and move forward, he will open a more beautiful door for you. You will walk through it and perhaps you will even praise him for having closed the past door you loved so much. He is Al-Fattah, the Opener. May the doors He opens for us always lead us back to him. — Asmaa Hussein

-Why don't you cry again, you little wretch?
-Because I'll never cry for you again. — Charles Dickens

When you are first hurt, your anger is fresh and bright and clean. It is hot and eager to defeat injustice. It makes you sharp and keen and quick. so that you can outrace your hurt and leave it lying on some faraway ground where it happened. This is why children cry so bitterly and scream until their faces go read at the smallest hunger or loneliness. They must get terribly, piercingly angry so that they can get out in front of all the little hurts of being new, or else they will never get free of them. But anger can go off like milk in the icebox. It can go hard and rotting and turn everything around it rotting too. By the time you have made your peace, your anger has reeked up your whole heart, it's so gunked up with fuming. That's why you must wash your anger every now and again, or else you can't even move an inch. — Catherynne M Valente

I love you, but I love the past even more. I long for it, I long for it, I am consumed with longing for it. The past! I shall cry, I shall suffer because the past will never come back again. — Henri Barbusse

i am confident i am over you. so much that some mornings i wake up with a smile on my face and my hands pressed together thanking the universe for pulling you out of me. thank god i cry. thank god you left. i would not be the empire i am today if you had stayed.

but then.

there are some nights i imagine what i might do if you showed up. how if you walked into the room this very second every awful thing you've ever done would be tossed out the closet window and all the love would rise up again. it would pour through my eyes as if it never really left in the first place. as if it's been practicing how to stay silent so long only so it could be this loud on your arrival. can someone explain that. how even when the love leaves. it doesn't leave. how even when i am so past you. i am so helplessly brought back to you. — Rupi Kaur

Akinli, this strange boy whose life at the moment seemed to be hanging on this, pushed himself from the bed.
Julie gasped, watching as his arms trembled under his weight, even as thin as he was. He crushed his eyes together in concentration, willing himself up.
I heard Ben whisper to himself, "Come on, come on, come on."
When Akinli, breathing as if he truly had just run a marathon, was fairly close to upright, he held out an arm for me.
I fell into it fearlessly.
We leaned into each other, neither of us strong enough to stay up on our own.
"I thought I'd never see you sit up again," Julie cried.
We both turned to her, smiling at the happy tears on her face. — Kiera Cass

Ben had never seen his mother cry before, and it startled him, so he didn't ask again. Right afterward she'd put on her favorite record and played a mysterious song called "Space Oddity," about an astronaut named Major Tom who gets lost in space. She used to listen to the song over and over again. With her eyes closed, she'd place the palm of her hand against the fabric of the speaker, so she could feel it vibrate against her skin. — Brian Selznick

End of Winter"

Over the still world, a bird calls
waking solitary among black boughs.

You wanted to be born; I let you be born.
When has my grief ever gotten
in the way of your pleasure?

Plunging ahead
into the dark and light at the same time
eager for sensation

as though you were some new thing, wanting
to express yourselves

all brilliance, all vivacity
never thinking
this would cost you anything,
never imagining the sound of my voice
as anything but part of you -

you won't hear it in the other world,
not clearly again,
not in birdcall or human cry,

not the clear sound, only
persistent echoing
in all sound that means good-bye, good-bye -

the one continuous line
that binds us to each other. — Louise Gluck

10 August, 1939

Confession: I am nineteen years old, and I've been kissed many times. But I've never been kissed like that.

It felt like drowning but not needing to breathe. Like falling but never hitting the ground. Even now, my hands are shaking, and my heart is so swollen and fat it feels like it's going to burst, or I'm going to burst. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to bury my head in my pillow and scream until I fall asleep, because maybe when I go to sleep I can relive it.
I can't believe it happened, yet I think I've been waiting for it to happen for the last seven years, ever since I conned Angelo into kissing me the first time. I've been waiting for him for so long, and for a couple of hours tonight, in a little world that was only big enough for the two of us, he was mine.
But I don't know if I will be able to keep him. I'm afraid when tomorrow comes, I'll be waiting for him again.
Eva Rosselli — Amy Harmon

Far beneath the rusty Baltimore dawn, stirrings in the maximum security ward. Down where it is never dark the tormented sense beginning day as oysters in a barrel open to their lost tide. God's creatures who cried themselves to sleep stirred to cry again and the ravers cleared their throats. — Thomas Harris

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. "Your favorite colour ... it's green?"
"That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange."
"Orange?" He seems unconvinced.
"Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once."
"Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you."
But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."
Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry. — Suzanne Collins

Don't be too hasty," she warned. "Conserve your strength. If you're too eager to fight the undead, you may find yourselves joining them. Then you'd never see us again, and we'd be very sad."
"Yes," said Christian. "I'd cry into my pillow every night."
I resisted the urge to kick him. "Well, I couldn't visit if I was Strigoi, yeah, but hopefully I'd just die a normal death. Then I could come see you as a ghost. — Richelle Mead

But my dad said it was no excuse.
"But I love him!" I had never seen my sister cry that much.
"No, you don't."
"I hate you!"
"No, you don't." My dad can be very calm sometimes.
"He's my whole world."
"Don't ever say that about anyone again. Not even me." That was my mom. — Stephen Chbosky

If any of you cry at my funeral, I'll never speak to you again! — Stan Laurel

Closing his eyes again, Beck repositions his head on the back of his seat, and in one sure movement, reaches over and grabs my hand. Even with his eyes closed, he knew where to find me. I want to cry for a thousand reasons, laugh for a thousand others; this is my anomalous balance, the place where Beck and I can let the ridiculousness of our collective sentences marinate, and other things, too. It's a singular moment of clarity between two people, and rare or not, I'm not about to let go.
I'm done roaming hillsides.
I've scoured the corners of the earth.
And I've found my people.
God, I'm almost jealous of myself.
Holding Beck's hand in my lap, I find a courage I never knew I had and drop my head on his shoulder. — David Arnold

She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness. — George R R Martin

See that tree?" It was a stubby cypress tree, all bent and twisted.
"Yeah, I see it."
"It's my favorite tree."
"It's not that great a tree," I said.
"That's it. That's exactly it. It's like me. The wind beat the holy crap out of it when it was just a sapling. Never could straighten itself out again." He sort of smiled at me. "But, Zach, it didn't die." He looked like maybe he wanted to cry. But he didn't. "It's alive."
"Maybe it should have just given up."
"That tree didn't know how to do that. It only knew how to live. Crooked. Bent. Taller trees dwarfing it even more. It just wanted to live. I named it, you know?"
He was waiting for me to ask what he'd named it
but I decided I didn't want to ask.
"Zach," he whispered. "The tree's name is Zach."[p. 135] — Benjamin Alire Saenz

I have witnessed Grandfather cry, and I implore myself to say that I desire to never witness him cry again. If this signifies that I must do things for him so that he will not cry, then I will do those things. If this signifies that I must not look when he cries, then I will not look. — Jonathan Safran Foer

A strange, pale figure emerged - Pendergast? - and she felt herself suddenly in his arms, lifted bodily as if she were a child again, her head cradled against his chest. She felt his shoulders began to convulse, faintly, regularly, almost as if he was weeping. But that was, of course, impossible, as Pendergast would never cry. — Douglas Preston

'Never again' is the rallying cry for all who believe that mankind must speak out against genocide. — Jon Corzine

Men and women of the world, never again plan war! With this atomic bomb, war can only mean suicide for the human race. From this atomic waste the people of Nagasaki confront the world and cry out: No more war! Let us follow the commandment of love and work together. The people of Nagasaki prostrate themselves before God and pray: Grant that Nagasaki may be the last atomic wilderness in the history of the world. — Takashi Nagai

When I left Merle was wearing a bungalow apron and rolling pie crust. She came to the door wiping her hands on the apron and kissed me on the mouth and began to cry and ran back into the house, leaving the doorway empty [ ... ] I had a funny feeling as I saw the house disappear, as though I had written a poem and it was very good and I had lost it and would never remember it again. (p. 262) — Raymond Chandler

Until I realized: this long expanse of free time to rekindle friendships is not real. We will never come home to each other again and we will never again have each other's undivided attention. That version of our friendship is over forever. And when I remember this, and it usually happens in those awful, quiet evening hours on Sunday nights, after dinner but before bed, I just lie on my sofa and cry for half an hour. — Mindy Kaling

Then we were both lectured by our guruji. He told us clearly what was expected of us: never again to use a vehicle, to take food only once a day, not to use Western medicine, to abstain from emotion, never to hurt any living creature. He told us we must not react to attacks, must not beg, must not cry, must not complain, must not demand, must not feel superiority, must learn not to be disturbed by illusory things. — William Dalrymple

She thought of herself as his strength; in a world of shadows, the indisputable reality to which he could always repair. And, again, for all that had come, she could not regret this. She had tried, but she had never been and was not now, even tonight, truly sorry. Where, then, was her repentance? And how could God hear her cry? — James Baldwin

Kammy jerked upright. It was as though the trees had parted beneath the pressure of the storm and a bolt of lightning had struck her. She had never entered the mouth for it had always been much too small. Yet, she had never seen anything else enter it either. The thought alone made her feel sick with excitement and fear. A small voice told Kammy that such a reaction was ridiculous, it was just a squirrel. But warmth spread to the tips of Kammy's fingers as they stretched forward. She could see now that it was not a burrow at all, but a tunnel large enough for her to fit through. She was quite sure that she would not even have to bend her head. The same small voice tried to speak again but Kammy could not hear it through the rush of blood in her ears.
Kammy stepped inside the mouth of the forest and felt herself flipped upside down. — Natalie Crown

You can never have the same thing twice, and it's hopeless to try. It never works like that, and all you end up doing is breaking your heart against a solid rock. That's why when you lose things you have to let them go instead of trying to get them back again. You can't do it, and you only hurt yourself worse if you try. Never cry for the moon. — William Woodall

What?" he whispered.
"Nothing."
Cooper stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest, pulling me to him. "You work at that job. You never miss school. You deserve a little fun and we're going to have fun. Soon, my pop will grill and you'll pig out and I'll lick barbeque sauce off your lips. Then, I'll take you home, safe and sound. Do you understand?"
I nodded again, but Cooper sighed. "Why do you look ready to cry?"
"I'm nervous."
"Don't be. My family's a mess. We're sloppy. We eat too much. Talk too loud. Fart constantly. Next to us, you're a princess. — Bijou Hunter

Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me? — Antwone Fisher

Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn't touched. I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror
of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision
he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath:
The horror! The horror! — Joseph Conrad

If I never kissed you again, if I never got to feel your calm again, if I never got to wake up with you and look at your eyes and know that I had spent a night with you in my dreams, even if I didn't remember it," I laughed, but it was really a half sob, half cry. "Seth, you have to know that you have made me feel so loved. — Shelly Crane

Andromache: See, I've stopped crying. I won't cry ever again, I promise you.

Helen: Don't promise that. Never promise that. Tears are good sometimes. They clear the heart of sorrow. Cry. — Adele Geras

When we reached the beach, Leif fell to his knees with a dramatic cry. "Solid ground! I'll never take you for granted again."
"Are you going to kiss the sand?" I asked.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Now I'M the one being silly?"
"Yes. — Maria V. Snyder

In heaven, believers in Jesus Christ will never cry again. In hell, unbelievers will never stop crying. What more motivation do we need to share Christ with the lost? — Brian Williams

A rowboat, without oars. An outboard motor. As you can sit there for years, forever, with that outboard motor, pulling again, and yet again, that rope, or cord, or wire, or whatever it is, and winding yet again, and each time, every single time, the motor, though it may give a cough or two, will fail to start, though if it starts, and when it starts, you are, at whatever speed you choose, within the engine's limits and the hazards of the course, well on your way, until it starts you are no nearer where you were going on the fifteenth try than on the first; the enterprise may last forever, and never yet quite begin. The fact seems to be, however, that unless some apparently unrelated event should intervene
a bullet, a heart attack, a cry from shore that dinner's ready, or company has come, or junior's run away
the engine will eventually start. In the meantime, though, while you have been intensely busy, it is difficult to account for how the time is spent. — Renata Adler

Words are alive
when I've found a story that I love, I read it again and again, like playing a favorite song over and over.
Reading isn't passive
I enter the story with the characters, breathe their air, feel their frustrations,
scream at them to stop when they're about to do something stupid, cry with them, laugh with them.
Reading for me, is spending time with a friend. A book is a friend. You can never have too many. — Gary Paulsen

Don't cry for me, Grace. I'm not worth it. (Julian)
Yes you are! (Grace)
You are my saving Grace. Without you, I would never have known love. And I would never have known me again. (Julian) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

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. — Patrick Rothfuss

Cry as much as you want to, but just make sure when you're finished, you never cry for the same reason again. — Wiz Khalifa

Prying out a stump reminded him of how deeply a tree clung to the ground, how tenacious a hold it had on a place. Though he was not a sentimental man - he did not cry when his children died, he simply dug the graves and buried them - James was silent each time he killed a tree, thinking of its time spent in that spot. He never did this with the animals he hunted - they were food, and transient, passing through this world and out again, as people did. But trees felt permanent - until you had to cut them down. — Tracy Chevalier

He couldn't. Never again, not with anyone else. Nothing would ever, after that moment, compare. Not with her cry, not with her reaction, not with her kiss. A woman shouldn't be created in such heartbreakingly beautiful combinations. A woman shouldn't, in fifteen minutes, have the ability to ruin him for life. — Alessandra Torre

17You, LORD, hear the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry, 18defending the fatherless and the oppressed, so that mere earthly mortals will never again strike terror. — Anonymous

She stood looking at me, and, of course, I stood looking at her.
"Am I pretty?"
"Yes; I think you are very pretty."
"Am I insulting?"
"Not so much so as you were last time," said I.
"Not so much so?"
"No."
She fired when she asked the last question, and she slapped my face with such force as she had, when I answered it.
"Now," said she. "You little course monster, what do you think of me now?"
"I shall not tell you."
"Because you are going to tell upstairs. Is that it?"
"No," said I. "That is not it."
"Why don't you cry again, you little wretch?"
"Because I'll never cry for you again," said I. — Charles Dickens

That's the great thing about hope - no matter your past, no matter your mistakes, hope is the constant force in your heart driving you forward. You fall down. You cry about it for a little while. And then you stand up again. You push forward. You never give up because you believe something good will come. I'm lonely now, but something good will come.
Hope is my one healthy compulsion. — S. Walden

Grief reunites you with what you've lost. It's a merging; you go with the loved thing or person that's going away. You follow it a far as you can go.
But finally,the grief goes away and you phase back into the world. Without him.
And you can accept that. What the hell choice is there? You cry, you continue to cry, because you don't ever completely come back from where you went with him
a fragment broken off your pulsing, pumping heart is there still. A cut that never heals.
And if, when it happens to you over and over again in life, too much of your heart does finally go away, then you can't feel grief any more. And then you yourself are ready to die. You'll walk up the inclined ladder and someone else will remain behind grieving for you. — Philip K. Dick

Dear Mommy
I'm doing really good,
I get all A's in school
And I don't cry at bedtime anymore,
Though my new mom said I could.
I remember how much you hate tears,
You slapped them out of me
To make me strong,
I think it worked.
I learned to use a microscope
And my hair grew two inches.
It's pretty, just like yours.
I'm not allowed to clean the house,
Only my own room,
Isn't that a funny rule?
You say kids are so much trouble
Getting born, they better pay it back.
I'm not supposed to take care
Of the other kids, only me, I sort of like it.
I still get the hole in my stomach
When I do something wrong,
I have a saying on my mirror
"Kids make mistakes, It's OK,"
I read it every day,
Sometimes I even believe it.
I wonder if you ever think of me
Or if you're glad the troublemaker's gone,
I never want to see you again.
I love you, Mommy. — Karyl McBride

It soon got so cold that the men rushed to close the doors. When they had shut them and the room was again silent, they saw that several women had begun to cry. The women said it was because of the numbing air that had washed over their bare shoulders, but even strangers embraced sadly as they coasted into the new year and felt its strength commencing. They cried because of the magic and the contradictions; because time had passed and time was left; because they saw themselves as if they were in a photograph that had winked fast enough to contradict their mortality; because the city around them had conspired to break a hundred thousand hearts; and because they and everyone else had to float upon this sea of troubles, watertight. Sometimes there were islands, and when they found them they held fast, but never could they hold fast enough not to be moved and once again overwhelmed. — Mark Helprin

We cry in our own rooms, remembering a man who will never be here again.The house creaks. Maybe it feels the weight of our grief, maybe the floorboards are buckling because the burden is too heavy. — Rochelle Maya Callen

Miss Althea?"
"I don't blame you, Jesse," she said at last, taking control of her whirling emotions. "I must have ... I must have led you astray somehow. But you must never touch me again."
Jesse's disappointment was palpable. "Never?" That seemed impossible. To be
allowed to know how wonderful it was to feel and smell and taste her and then to
never be allowed that again. It was so unfair. Jesse wanted to cry. It was too unfair. — Pamela Morsi

Mhysa!" a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. "Mhysa! Mhysa!"

Dany looked at Missandei. "What are they shouting?"

"It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means 'Mother.'"

Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. "Mhysa!" they called. "Mhysa! MHYSA!" They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. "Maela," some called her, while others cried "Aelalla" or "Qathei" or "Tato," but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother. — George R R Martin

What Karen wants to do - needs to do - is cry, but she can't. Here, alone, when she could howl, beat the sofa cushions, scream; now, somehow, she is unable. It's for fear that if she gives in to it, she'll lose all sense of who she is. She is afraid that if she falls apart in private, then she'll fall apart completely. That if she crumbles, like a house in an earthquake, she will disappear down some deep, dark crevasse, and never be able to pull herself out and put herself back together again. — Sarah Rayner

Sing like your on top of the World. Cry like you have never done before. And breathe like your never do it again. — Tania Gardana

Today I saw cancer, cigarettes, and shortness of breath. This is why I walk to the ocean. Swim with sharks and jellyfish. I may never get this chance again. This is why if you want to kiss, you should kiss. If you want to cry, you should cry. And if you want to live, you should live. You don't have to love me. You already did. — Ryan Ross

A time for a change
A moment for a shake
A never again must we say
To the very woes of our day
The hey that does not make a hay;
Far away must they stay!
That they may not have a say.


Enough is enough! Enough is enough!
Words of riot from our mouths
Actions that set mankind ablaze
Cruelties' that make us amaze
Far away must they stay!
That our society shall not be slain
Peace we want! Peace we cry! Peace we sing!


Children cry, adults wail, the aged murmur
A simple voice they all utter!
Peace! Peace! Peace!
Let there be an absolute peace
That our lives shall not be in the gutter
When all lives are gone, then no life shall live
Peace we want! Peace we cry! Peace we sing! — Ernest Agyemang Yeboah