Quotes About Cry

How do you meditate? You meditate with an inner cry. There should be an inner cry here, in the heart. The outer cry is ego-centred; it wants name and fame. ... While you are feeling this inner cry, you try to make the mind absolutely calm and quiet. If a thought enters your mind, you try to reject it. Consider this thought as a fly. When a fly comes to land on your arm, you don't allow the fly to remain; you just wave your hand and it goes away.

I keep a lot of my problems bottled up inside me. That's why it's good, it's bad because I go through it, but it's really, what the fu*k I'm going through. That's why I ain't able to cry, I could try to make myself cry and it won't happen. But at the same time somebody could hear my song and they gonna cry for me.

I'm not used to sensitivity any more. When I see people cry when I lose, save your tears. I don't know how to handle people crying any more. I lost my sensitivity like that. Please, you embarrass me when you cry because I don't know what to do when you cry. I don't know what to say.

I love to cry. It's such a great release. If I'm just tired - jetlagged, I didn't get any sleep, I want to cry. I think it's important to cry.

I like a good cry every now and then. It releases something. There are times in my life when I'm meant to cry, but I don't actually cry. But then I can be walking down the street and it's been a few months, and things get on top of me - that's when I find myself crying.

I burst into tears and I cry and cry until it feels as though it is not salt and water being squeezed from my eyes, but blood.

So forgive me, love, if I cry in your shower. So forgive me, love, for the salt in your bed. So forgive me, love, if I cry all afternoon.

When things have gone really wrong in my life, I've cried like a child. I have really, really cried. I cry it out. Two-three days I cry, and then I'm like, enough, time to deal with reality and figure a way out. This is the way I have dealt with everything.

If you want to cry, then cry. Decide by yourself whether you are important or not. Even if other people value you, nobody can do anything for you. Ultimately, it’s your problem so if you live without regrets, then over time I think that your problems would disappear.

The capacity for imaginative reflex, for moral risk in any human being is not limitless; on the contrary, it can be rapidly absorbed by fictions, and thus the cry in the poem may come to sound louder, more urgent, more real than the cry in the street outside. The death in the novel may move us more potently than the death in the next room. Thus there may be a covert, betraying link between the cultivation of aesthetic response and the potential of personal inhumanity.

I cry because the future has once again found its sparkle and has grown a million times larger. And I cry because I am ashamed of how badly I have treated the people I love–of how badly I behaved during my own personal Dark Ages–back before I had a future and someone who cared for me from above. It is like today the sky opened up and only now am I allowed to enter

Every renaissance comes to the world with a cry, the cry of the human spirit to be free.

I can't cry on demand. I need to feel what I'm feeling. I can't just say, 'Give me a moment' and then cry.

Two people unable to cry finally cry together and in the world ended today, we would be fulfilled.

Only Thee That I want thee, only thee---let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry ---`I want thee, only thee'. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is ---`I want thee, only thee'.

[On being asked, 'Did you ever say that an actress needs to be able to laugh and to cry and that when you need to laugh you think of your sex life and when you need to cry you think of your sex life?':] No.

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

Nothing is more intriguing than a still photograph in the middle of a motion picture... Just as an accident is a cry changed into silence and not a silence after a cry, photography is speed rendered motionless.

The thing about kids is that they express emotion. They don't hold back. If they want to cry, they cry, and if they are in a good mood, they're in a good mood.

Some people would rather have a lie that makes them smile than a truth that makes them cry. I'm the opposite; I'd rather have people make me cry with the truth than try to make me smile.

Even the cry from the depths is an affirmation: Why cry if there is no hint of hope of hearing?

Why would I cry over a boy? I would never waste my tears on a boy. Why waste your tears on someone who makes you cry?

Such sorrow— The cry of true compassion Sinks into my hard ego.

My father slapped my thighs with a variety of meats until I began to cry and sulked in the corner. I later became a musician

What women would do if they could not cry, nobody knows. What poor, defenceless creatures they would be!

There's two to wash, two to dry; There's two who argue, two who cry; There's two to kiss, two to hug; and best of all, there's two to love!

Angie, I've seen my mom wrestle two cops to the ground with a taser dart in her neck, and you cry when your shoes pinch. Good luck, Bambi!

The word communist, of course, has become a rallying cry for certain people here just as the word Jew was in Hitler's Germany, a way of arousing emotion without engendering thought.

I am just a simple guy and I like when people enjoy themselves. I always say: you can laugh, you can cry, you can express yourself but please don't hurt each other. I really don't know, to be honest with you. I'm very impressed with everything that has happened.

In bed we laugh, in bed we cry, and born in bed, in bed we die; the near approach a bed may show of human bliss to human woe.

It feels so good to laugh at myself. I'd probably cry my eyes out if I didn't.

If one person starts crying, I'll cry. If one person has no money, I'll give them mine. If I had a bicycle growing up, I always felt incredibly guilty when I see someone sitting at the bus stop.

I had grown men cry. I mean, literally.

I cry at the end of every book.

If any of you cry at my funeral I'll never speak to you again.

Don't cry." "How can I not?" I asked him. "You just said you loved me." "Well, why else did you think all of this was happening?" He set the book aside to wrap his arms around me. "The Furies wouldn't be trying to kill you if I didn't love you." "I didn't know," I said. Tears were trickling down my cheeks, but I did nothing to try to stop them. His shirt was absorving most of them. "You never said anything about it. Every time I saw you, you just acted so... wild." "How was I supposed to act?" he asked. "You kept doing things like throwing tea in my face.

Standing on the bridge, looking across at that empty city, everything in the compass of my gaze had been set there by a human hand. Somehow those pylons had been strung with wire, and those towers raised, and roofs tiled. There had been food and drink for millions of mouths. I don't cry easy, but my vision blurred as I stared on the ruins of what we had been, and I watched the small band of men in rags move toward it to pick at it like birds on the carcass of some giant.

To live, to have so much ambition, to suffer, to cry, to fight and, at the end, forgetfulness ... as if I had never existed.

After school the very next day, El Rey's mobile home was gone. I laid in bed and wondered what happens to people when they go, if they become like shadows, if they fade away when they disappear from your life. The only thing I could see was the broken picket fence. The only sound I could hear was the cry of birds being killed in the night.

Never lose hope. Stay close to Allah and when you mess up, go back to Him. Never, ever stop going back to Him. Repent often. Cry to Allah. And hold on tight-with your life-to His remembrance and to prayer. If you do this, you may get wet, but insha Allah never drown in this ocean of dunya.

Angels are quite ample cause to cry.

I remember the last season I played. I went home after a ballgame one day, lay down on my bed, and tears came to my eyes. How can you explain that? It's like crying for your mother after she's gone. You cry because you love her. I cried, I guess, because I loved baseball, and I knew I had to leave it.

I carried Rudy softly through the broken street...with him I tried a little harder at comforting. I watched the contents of his soul for a moment and saw a black-painted boy calling the name Jesse Owens as he ran through an imaginary tape. I saw him hip-deep in some icy water, chasing a book, and I saw a boy lying in bed, imagining how a kiss would taste from his glorious next-door neighbor. He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

"Open Arms" has a lot of unison singing in it. And it works: Grown men will come to our gigs and cry during that one.

I might not of told you enough that I loved you but I didn't expect for you to cheat, I loved you and you knew that and I still do, I might of argued with you, pushed you away but I still loved, I still do, you walk away as I cry with my hand on my chest because my heart feels like it will tear.

The sign of a Philistine age is the cry of immorality against art.

As soon as a baby enters the world, the baby is immediately introduced to pain. It is somewhat symbolic that life begins with a cry.

Very few men can speak of Nature, for instance, with any truth. They overstep her modesty, somehow or other, and confer no favor.They do not speak a good word for her. Most cry better than they speak, and you can get more nature out of them by pinching than by addressing them. The surliness with which the woodchopper speaks of his woods, handling them as indifferently as his axe, is better than the mealy-mouthed enthusiasm of the lover of nature. Better that the primrose by the river's brim be a yellow primrose, and nothing more, than that it be something less.