I was smiling yesterday,I am smiling today and I will smile tomorrow.Simply because life is too short to cry for anything.

I love the Lord, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live. (Psalms 116:1-2 NIV)

You stay safe, You love. You survive. You laugh and cry and struggle and sometimes you fail and sometimes you succeed. You Push.

I cut myself because you wouldn't let me cry.I cried because you wouldn't let me speak.I spoke because you wouldn't let me shine.I shone because I thought you loved me...

Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.

Cry. Forgive. Learn. Move on. Let your tears water the seeds of your future happiness.

Laugh, even when you feel too sick or too worn out or tired. Smile, even when you're trying not to cry and the tears are blurring your vision. Sing, even when people stare at you and tell you your voice is crappy. Trust, even when your heart begs you not to. Twirl, even when your mind makes no sense of what you see. Frolick, even when you are made fun of. Kiss, even when others are watching. Sleep, even when you're afraid of what the dreams might bring. Run, even when it feels like you can't run any more.And, always, remember, even when the memories pinch your heart. Because the pain of all your experience is what makes you the person you are now. And without your experience---you are an empty page, a blank notebook, a missing lyric. What makes you brave is your willingness to live through your terrible life and hold your head up high the next day. So don't live life in fear. Because you are stronger now, after all the crap has happened, than you ever were back before it started.

Sleep not under a willow tree for she weeps many tears.

They'll say you are bador perhaps you are mador at least you should stay undercover.Your mind must be bareif you would dareto think you can love more than one lover.

God gave us crying so other folks could see when we needed help, and help us.

God's creatures who cried themselves to sleep stirred to cry again.

THE FOUR HEAVENLY FOUNTAINSLaugh, I tell youAnd you will turn backThe hands of time.Smile, I tell youAnd you will reflectThe face of the divine.Sing, I tell youAnd all the angels will sing with you!Cry, I tell youAnd the reflections found in your pool of tears -Will remind you of the lessons of today and yesterdayTo guide you through the fears of tomorrow.

Every human being on earth is the same and our very being is crying out for same need.

A man is NOT weak if he cries. A man is NOT a punk if he cries. A man is NOT acting like a little b*tch if he cries. He’s a Man! And he’s allowed to have and show his true feelings without feeling less than. Ladies, some of you need to do better. Learn to be compassionate, loving, supportive, and understanding. There’s NOTHING wrong with a man being vulnerable. I encourage you to be his joy, peace, and his safe place. Lift him up and be mindful NOT to tear him down. If you truly care for and love your man, do and say everything with love. Let him know that it’s okay to cry and that he doesn’t have to pretend to be okay when he’s not. Real men DO cry! They experience sadness, disappointments, pain, and many other feelings. A man shouldn’t have to suppress his emotions. That’s pure nonsense! A man that can cry, smile, and let his guards down is a keeper in my book. I couldn’t imagine acting hard all of the time. That’s so unfair! Ladies, strive to be a Queen of substance. PEACE.

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

Human life begins by crying! Once a baby is born, it cries out. Maybe it cries in joy! So, the simple equation goes- we smile when we feel happy and we cry when we feel sad. As happiness and sadness are connected together like the body and the soul, we cannot remove sorrow or suffering from the human life forever. As long as life is present, gladness and unhappiness will ever be there. They will keep coming in one form or another. It is just ironical that we want to be happy forever and never want to cry. Even trying to remove sadness entirely from life is like being utterly selfish and going against the natural laws! So, the beauty of life is to accept both pleasure and misery gracefully. Hence, we should never forget that we did not smile first but cried when we were born!

Lips that have tasted the salt of tears always give the sweetest kiss.

I count everything loss, to gain anything under the power of grace in Jesus Christ.

True friends chop the onions and cry together.

Why wait to forgive and let go only after you have sufficiently wallowed in your despair? Why not forgive and let go now?

Never cry because you have mountains of problem in your hands to solve. Always smile because each problems will someday resolve.

[Robert's eulogy at his brother, Ebon C. Ingersoll's grave. Even the great orator Robert Ingersoll was choked up with tears at the memory of his beloved brother]The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower.Dear Friends: I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would do for me.The loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where manhood's morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were falling toward the west.He had not passed on life's highway the stone that marks the highest point; but, being weary for a moment, he lay down by the wayside, and, using his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust.Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship. For whether in mid sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment jeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death.This brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock; but in the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic souls. He climbed the heights, and left all superstitions far below, while on his forehead fell the golden dawning, of the grander day.He loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to tears. He sided with the weak, the poor, and wronged, and lovingly gave alms. With loyal heart and with the purest hands he faithfully discharged all public trusts.He was a worshipper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand times I have heard him quote these words: 'For Justice all place a temple, and all season, summer!' He believed that happiness was the only good, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only religion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy; and were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom to his grave, he would sleep to-night beneath a wilderness of flowers.Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of death hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his latest breath, 'I am better now.' Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead.And now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved, to do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust.Speech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler, stronger, manlier man.

Remember no more your misery, listen to good music.

God is reciprocally responding to the cry of the afflicted.

Either cry for exchanging new currency notes for couple of days or crib for corruption for ages and generations with old one. Choice is yours.

Whenever I am sad and depressed; whenever I cry tears of pain or frustration I ask my little heart, why do I cry. Why does this emotion overtake me time and again. Then a little voice from within say that it’s OK to cry once in a while. If you’ve been hurt, it’s better to cry yourself to calmness, to console yourself instead of retaliating. These tears make me human instead of becoming a hard hearted person. Tears retain the innocent being within me. So tears are my biggest strength, they are my best friends…

Comedians can turn laughter into tears and back again.

Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.

I spent days and nights staring at the blank page, searching the deepest corners of my mind: who have I been, what have I seen, what did I learn? I thought about all the nights I've spent outside, all the times I laid down to cry and how I took a deep breath every morning and decided to simply go on. Because what else is there to do? Decide that this is it? I quit, I'm done? Oh if I could find words to justify those feelings I've carried. I could write the thickest of books with explosions of emotions from a young girl's lost heart. I could make you see, make you hear, make you feel, at least a tiny fragment of what's out there.

My love, you are driving the entire world mad. The nightingales are committing suicide one by one out of jealousy of your voice. The roses took one glance at your beauty and folded themselves from shame. The trees now only whisper your name and the sky hasn’t stopped crying since you looked up. Have pity on us, my love. We have already broken all the mirrors and glass out of fear that you will forget us and fall in love with yourself once you see what we all cannot stop seeing.

When the burden is too heavy on your heart. Cast the weight upon the Lord, for he cares that, you call out to his holy Name.

In a corner you condense yourself and cry- in the same corner you caress and kiss. Life is this, something different each time.

Babies cry at birth because it is the first time they experience separation from love.

People can cry much easier than they can change.

Be careful of broken people. Their sharp edges may cut you.

Once people see you cry, it's like they own part of you. It's like you ripped a hole in yourself, and they saw through whatever armor you had on, got a good long view of all the screaming alien goop underneath.

We grow old without knowing the reason.We build the walls for no good reason.We start the wars for lack of any reason.And we cry foul, when we all knew the real reason.Is it any wonder then, that we do the things we do.When all we have to do, which is hard for a lot of you,Is reason!

MY EFFORTS FAIL I DON'T CRY,EVEN I CAN'T CATCH DREAMS SKY,I DIDN'T GIVE UP N ALWAYS TRY,MY MIND QUESTION ME WHY?MY HEART REMIND TO FLY.

Now it was done. He was free of Xanth forever. Free to make his own life, without being ridiculed or mothered or tempted. Free to be himself.Bink put his face in his hands and cried.

You're back where you swore yourself you wouldn't beThe familiar shackles you can't tell from your own skinYour head's under water when you learned to swimOn a road to hell, congratulations, you're free...

If on any given day you don't cry from rejoicing in the beauty of the world, then you have not lived that day.

...and when we die we die alone I cry, I cry aloneLike a piece of stone I am thrown into the wavy ocean of lifeto atone...to atoneOnly to atone...

Many men, One CryOne Woman, a Pleasant Pride.

It doesn't mean anything;It doesn't change anything,Except the way I see myself,And it's not supposed to do that.I shouldn't feel this way;I should cry this way,But I kind of do.Yeah, I kind of do.

The first music I ever heard was only one hundred and sixty days after I was conceived. Da dum Da dum Da dum Have you ever heard the sound a blessing makes? This is it. The first thing I ever saw was only one hundred and eighty days after I was conceived. It was a bright light soft like clouds warm like candles. Have you ever seen the colour of a blessing? This is it. The first time I ever suffered was in the three thousand and sixty seconds after I was born. I listened for her heartbeat. I searched for her light. I cried for the first time until she was born. Have you ever known a blessing? A twin is it.

The water in the pond inside my heart doesn't shine anymore. It has turned dark. Every ghost from my mind breaks all the barriers and take a dip there, making it darker. and every time it happens, my soul in the pond cries with pain.

Old soul cries through the tears of a newborn

The child inside me wouldn't stop crying. Every time it loses something so important to it. A person or a thing it loves the most, I pretend like nothing happened. But I hear it sobbing helplessly inside me. And the pathetic part of all this is, It neither grows up nor dies. Every time I stand in front of a mirror, it stares at me through my eyes. With its tear-stained face and that intense eyes that rip my ribs apart and the cry of it echoes through every room of my soul.

Crying cleanses the soul.

Cry when you must. It relieves the soul of all pain.

My body weeps to livewhen you make me believe that someday I will be deadsoul sleepless in graveyard's bed

Leaders know where they can function better. They don’t cry over what they cannot do.

Leaders don't cry for what country can do for them for free. They dream about what they can do for country at high cost.

All of life is an amphitheater where we each serve as an appreciative member of the audience until the sublime play ends with our death. The chapters and verses in our life story reflect what we value – how appreciative we are for our time to work, play, laugh, cry, and create.

Cry while writing it, and readers will cry while reading it.

Extremities are flawed. Moderation is ideal, save for one occasion.So damn these eyes that weep too much.This mind that thinks too much. But never this heart that loves too much.

You heard me cry long before I knew my voice.

When pain brings you down, don't be silly, don't close your eyes and cry, you just might be in the best position to see the sun shine.

If your tears have lost the ability to hide your pain... why shedding them?

I am sitting here, staring at the dark sky and drunk with memories. laughing like a maniac while crying an ocean. Somewhere it feels like somebody is kissing my lips passionately. While they are continuously pushing a knife, deep into my chest.

The doors of the darkest room one had ever seen were openedand everyone was asked to collect the pieces of themselves that they have lost with time all these years. Everyone rushed in and started searching for the pieces that would complete them but all of a sudden they saw the light in the room fading away, they turned around and saw the doors closing back again. They screamed and tried to run back but all of a sudden there were fences all around them, they lost their voice and helplessly stuck in there saw the doors closing. They lost themselves completely in the quest of searching the pieces they had lost before.

Do you feel safe there?"Immediately tears come down my face. "Yes.""Why does that make you cry?

It is weird to see how people sometimes doesn't value and ignore the love and effort of the people who love them and try to stay. They push them away only to realise everything they did after they leave and make their memories as pillows to sleep over and cry upon it later.

The more you hide, the higher the walls around you gets. The more you cry in silence, the thicker it becomes.

After or before any happiness, someone must cry.

What if you are just destined to get hurt, to be helplessly stuck in a point of time you no longer want to be? Maybe life is all about trying to get up while you fall a little bit deeper in the pits of hell, each time you try not to...

You ask me to write you a poem,I pen you an empty ocean,You run away.You ask me who I am,I paint you a breaking sky,You weep in the rain.

We cry to release the soul of its pain.

But whenever tragedy strikes, one is left either to die or with a plethora of ifs and buts to ponder over.

There comes a sacred moment, when a man must cry out to his Saviour, this is time of surrender to the son of Man.

Call on Jesus Christ in any circumstance.

Mr. Albert? Mr. Albert?” Harley said.“Just Albert’s fine,” Albert said tersely.“Me and Janice are thirsty.”“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any water on me.” He managed a tight smile and moved on. But now Janice was crying and Harley was pleading.“We used to live with Mary and she gave us water. But now we have to live with Summer and BeeBee and they said we have to have money.”“Then I guess you’d better earn some money,” Albert said. He tried to soften it, tried not to sound harsh, but he had a lot on his mind and it came out sounding mean. Now Harley started to cry, too.“If you’re thirsty, stop crying,” Albert snapped. “What do you think tears are made of?

Is he weeping?" said the one with the softest heart.

Love is that indefinable moment of brokenheartedness when you cry and someone weeps with your tears

There are struggles you cannot win, but a man can meet his own heart if value is found in loss. Give yourself permission to cry.

The thing that breaks the heart of God and makes him to cry out of frustration for his men and their whereabouts is when equity has been squeezed out of the public square

kisses explode when... someone believes in me when my heart cries out a song of thanks to yours.

Never be afraid to cry. Sometimes, nothing can cleanse the heart more than a few wet tears.

I loved you, I trusted you, but you lied to me, deceived my heart and poisoned my life.Now I'm corrupt, I hurt people all in rage of you, but I can't help it.I'm nothing to you now, never was, but your acting still made it hurt. So thanks to you, I hate you too, but my heart will always cry.

She was now drowning in that pool of desires without having any idea about the depth of it.

She was few inches taller than him and when for the first time her promising eyes met with his, he knew it would be more than friendship. He was too young to name that feeling then. But love...above all relationships knows no age.

These stories always take us to some far away places which we can never visit in real life.

There are so many moments in our life which we cannot describe with mere words. There are not enough adjectives to justify the emotions behind such moments. Those moments are your life- they define who you truly are

They will cry, he will shout but you must sweat.

Cry to Christ!

He took a deep breath in, still managing himself as if he were resisting temptation. He was a soldier, his father was in the service, too. Crying wasn't something Morell men did. They just didn't. He hadn't cried at Robbie Morell's funeral.So he wasn't going to now.

At her words, words of forgiveness from Rose, an honest and just woman, something broke inside of Wince. His tears began to flow. Age seemed to drift from his face like misty ghosts from a morning field. Katie lifted his chin and, holding back her own tears, looked into his eyes. "Thank you, Wince."Eve placed her free hand on his shoulder. "May we hold her now?"Wince nodded and gently released the baby into the waiting arms of her sisters."You did the right thing, Wince." Rose gave Wince a hug. "And you can help us bury her after Wilson and the Tar Ponds City Police see if they can find anybody to lay charges against after all this time.

When you smile, it means that your mind smiles; when you cry, it means that your mind cries!

When we feel lost in time, with only shadows of the past living in our mind; when the moment, which “was", no longer "is” and when only silence remains, loads of questions arise. We can cry a river or we may wonder: “What went wrong?

I think we cry to release the animal parts of us without losing our humanity. Becauseinside me is a beast that snarls, and growls, and strains toward freedom, toward Tobias, and, aboveall, toward life. And as hard as I try, I cannot kill it.

i love good cries,loud sobs that soak your pillowthat kind that come at the endof a perfect bookyou're gasping for airas droplets of salt water trickle down your cheeksinto the corners of your mouthas your chest rises and fallsand your vision is blurredby the tearsbut your mind is so clear and your every thoughtin that moment feels so meaningfuland important and rightit feels okay to justlet it all outit makes you feel likeyou are free

Nostalgia, she knew, has the power to make you smile and also to make you cry.

The intruders spoke no words as they rushed in. Five boys carrying baseball bats and tire irons. They wore an assortment of Halloween masks and stocking masks.But Derek knew who they were.“No! No!” he cried.All five boys wore bulky shooter’s earmuffs. They couldn’t hear him. But more importantly, they couldn’t hear Jill.One of the boys stayed in the doorway. He was in charge. A runty kid named Hank. The stocking pulled down over his face smashed his features into Play-Doh, but it could only be Hank.One of the boys, fat but fast-moving and wearing an Easter Bunny mask, stepped to Derek and hit him in the stomach with his aluminum baseball bat.Derek dropped to his knees.Another boy grabbed Jill. He put his hand over her mouth. Someone produced a roll of duct tape.Jill screamed. Derek tried to stand, but the blow to his stomach had winded him. He tried to stand up, but the fat boy pushed him back down.“Don’t be stupid, Derek. We’re not after you.”The duct tape went around and around Jill’s mouth. They worked by flashlight. Derek could see Jill’s eyes, wild with terror. Pleading silently with her big brother to save her.When her mouth was sealed, the thugs pulled off their shooter’s earmuffs.Hank stepped forward. “Derek, Derek, Derek,” Hank said, shaking his head slowly, regretfully. “You know better than this.”“Leave her alone,” Derek managed to gasp, clutching his stomach, fighting the urge to vomit.“She’s a freak,” Hank said.“She’s my little sister. This is our home.”“She’s a freak,” Hank said. “And this house is east of First Avenue. This is a no-freak zone.”“Man, come on,” Derek pleaded. “She’s not hurting anyone.”“It’s not about that,” a boy named Turk said. He had a weak leg, a limp that made it impossible not to recognize him. “Freaks with freaks, normals with normals. That’s the way it has to be.”“All she does is—”Hank’s slap stung. “Shut up. Traitor. A normal who stands up for a freak gets treated like a freak. Is that what you want?”“Besides,” the fat boy said with a giggle, “we’re taking it easy on her. We were going to fix her so she could never sing again. Or talk. If you know what I mean.”He pulled a knife from a sheath in the small of his back. “Do you, Derek? Do you understand?”Derek’s resistance died.“The Leader showed mercy,” Turk said. “But the Leader isn’t weak. So this freak either goes west, over the border right now. Or…” He let the threat hang there.Jill’s tears flowed freely. She could barely breathe because her nose was running. Derek could see that by the way she sucked tape into her mouth, trying for air. She would suffocate if they didn’t let her go soon.“Let me at least get her doll.

No one knows if I'm dying to laugh or to crySo my verse hasthis almost imperceptible thrillLife is sad, the world is crazy!Not worth killing yourself for itNot for anyoneFor no loveLife goes on, indifferently!

This was a different kind of a kiss, not one that leads to something, but a hard, painful one.It was a goodbye kiss.

Never knew the word Goodbye could scatter my heart into pieces. Just 1 word, could made me cry over you.

Oh... Blip. Yeah, I see." He sounds distracted, awed. "Your child," I whisper."Our child." He counters.

I have died at the ripe age of twenty.Smile, for the world didn't get a chance to disappoint me.I have died at the mature age of ninety.Smile, for my life was more than satisfying.I have died suddenly—out of the blue.Smile, for I didn't have to fall ill before you.I have died from a long illness.Smile, for I had the chance to say goodbye.I did not want to leave this Earth.But smile, for I am still here among you.Why are you crying?Can you not see I am smiling?

Don’t cry for them to be happy. Find courage to overcome the circumstance.

When you face the worst situation, what do you do? Do you cry? No!With positive mentality you can graciously overcome the situation.

I was not looking for HIM, he was just always there, the little BOY! I have not seen HIM, because I did not want to see, but HE was standing next to my bed every night, the little BOY! I have not heard their cry because I have forbidden HIM there to cry. But one day, when I woke up, did I knew seen, so sad and lonely! I wanted to tell HIM that it's all going to be good. But I could not because I knew that it is not so! And we both cried, I and the LITTLE BOY IN ME!

Life is Beautiful, it is you who want to Enjoy or Cry.Enjoy = Win, Cry = Loose.

Figure out what makes you laugh, and do more of it. Figure out what makes you cry, and do less of it.

If God could run out of grace, He would’ve for me by now. And yet every morning I wake up, He says, “There is more, there is still more.

She cries,I laugh,She becomes numb,I become filled with joy,She slowly crumbles,I feel on top of the world,Yet somehow in the end,Out of the ashes,She rose like a Phoenix,As if nothing had ever touched her

Crying makes problems seem longer, and laughing makes problems seem shorter. Therefore in life if you cannot find a way out of your problems just take a short cut through them: that shortcut is laughter.

My tears of joyhear the raindrops crying,as the rain never wants to pourdown on my cloudy dayswhen I makeour love-dreamsfor the sun to dreamonly for you....(From the poem "Only For You" By Munia Khan)

Happiness grows best in the soil of contentment.

Thanks To Those People Who Give A Taste Of Right Ways. ” - Zia Mustafa

do not cry , you can focus the light spot with the eyes , the eyes of your heart . smile

One must be honest with himself. Then it will be much better than it is now.

It’s not really outstanding when you’re standing outOutcry is the only outburst,if you can’t shout

That's enough crying about the problems, let's begin killing the problems.

What is so real as the cry of a child?A rabbit's cry may be wilderBut it has no soul.

Fussing over children who cry only encourages them. That's positive reinforcement for negative behavior.

Go on, glare your eyes at me, and cry and plead, and talk tome about money and what it can buy. But it can't buy back a child once he's dead!

You battled monsters. You sweat and cried your way to this one prolific moment where you finally realize that those dark days and sleepless nights were pre-requisites to your becoming.

Well, let's argue this out, Mr Blank. You, who represent Society, have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month. That's my market value, for I am an inefficient member of Society, slow in the uptake, uncertain, slightly damaged in the fray, there's no denying it. So you have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month, to lodge me in a small, dark room, to clothe me shabbily, to harass me with worry and monotony and unsatisfied longings till you get me to the point when I blush at a look, cry at a word. We can't all be happy, we can't all be rich, we can't all be lucky - and it would be so much less fun if we were. Isn't it so, Mr Blank? There must be the dark background to show up the bright colours. Some must cry so that the others may be able to laugh the more heartily.

That voice that cries out doesn't have to be a weakling's does it?

Never cry for the same person twice.

Yesterday, she shed tears, keeping her head on my shoulders. And I think she's not going to be fine because I know she won't. Because a couple of years back, I wasn't.And when you know that you've fallen hard on a cold ground and are still lying there, what do you tell others who are taking the fall?You close your eyes. You accept to lie there a little longer. But I lie on my bed now, and it's a little too warm today.

Things you crave for won't come if you cry, but when you craft and create. Creativity digs up the buried gold.

Sleep!May be you will wake up tomorrow and find that things never changed, the apocalypse never happened, and everything's fine, normal, at home.Or may be you will wake up tomorrow and find that things have changed, for the better, the apocalypse is over and there's light, hope and a new home.Sleep, you crazy soul, just sleep.

I want to see the thirstinside the syllablesI want to touch the firein the sound:I want to feel the darknessof the cry. I wantwords as roughas virgin rocks.” - Verb.

Words. Just little black marks on paper. Just sounds in the empty air. But think of the power they have! They can make you laugh or cry, love or hate, fight or run away. They can heal or hurt. They even come to look and sound like what they mean. Angry looks angry on the page. Ugly sounds ugly when you say it.

I cry and wonderhow I'm going to fall asleepbecause sleeping means wakingand going through all this again

I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

Don’t underestimate your tears. They have the power to strengthen your commitment to your life’s purpose and to direct you towards your goal. So, when you cry because of the people who mock or taunt you, be positive and make promises with yourself that you will prove them wrong.

What happens is my mind starts to go in circles, thinking and thinking, and then I can't sleep. And once a couple of days go by, if you haven't slept, you start to get sick. You can't eat. You start to cry. It just feeds on itself.

One weekend it rained for 48 hours without stopping. The rain beat like bony fingers against the window panes. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Fungus was growing on the walls. I polished off a bottle of gin sitting huddled over the two-bar electric fire and wrote a poem, one of the few that has lasted through the moves and the years. It is called 'Where Can I Go?'If this is not the place where tears are understood where do I go to cry? If this is not the place where my spirits can take wing where do I go to fly?If this is not the place where my feelings can be heard where do I go to speak? If this is not the place where you’ll accept me as I am where can I go to be me? If this is not the place where I can try and learn and grow where can I go to laugh and cry?

The Lord has heard your cries. He will help you.

Every shed tears is a prayer.

I regret all the prayers that do not shed tears.

Pray without ceasing, say all you can to God and lay all your difficulties before him. He’ll take away your tears and make a way where there seems to be none. Wake up and do it!

Do you believe in God, Evan?”“Sure I do.”“I don’t. I mean, I don’t know. I did before the Others came. Or thought I did, when I thought about it at all. And then they came and…” I have to stop for a second to collect myself. “Maybe there’s a God. Sammy thinks there is. But he also thinks there’s a Santa Claus. Still, every night I said his prayer with him, and it didn’t have anything to do with me. It was about Sammy and what he believed, and if you could have seen him take that fake soldier’s hand and follow him onto that bus…”I’m losing it, and it doesn’t matter to me much. Crying is always easier in the dark. Suddenly my cold hand is blanketed by Evan’s warmer one, and his palm is as soft and smooth as the pillowcase beneath my cheek.“It kills me,” I sob. “The way he trusted. Like the way we trusted before they came and blew the whole goddamned world apart. Trusted that when it got dark there would be light. Trusted that when you wanted a fucking strawberry Frappuccino you could plop your ass in the car, drive down the street, and get yourself a fucking strawberry Frappuccino! Trusted…

Apologizing is different from begging, it doesn't change your status, go ahead and get on your knees, spill tears if you got it, for the person you offended, if at all you had a place in their hearts, you'll be totally forgiven and accepted.

You may cry out tears for misplacing your money, but you got to cry out blood if you have misplaced your dreams. Sadly, you may not even know the great deal of influence you loss when you misplace your dreams, so how will you cry for such a loss?

The whole point of crying was to quit before you cornied it up. The whole point of grief itself was to cut it out while it was still honest, while it still meant something. Because the thing was so easily corrupted, let yourself go and you started embellishing your own sobs.

I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.

Many people think less of a man if he cries because it supposedly shows a sign of weakness, but I beg to differ. A man that’s in touch with his feelings is absolutely beautiful! I admire, respect, and appreciate their braveness to be vulnerable. Crying is NOT a weakness. We cannot expect our men to be strong all of the time. That’s SO unfair! They have feelings, too. Don’t ever make a man feel less than just because he cries. Comfort, love, and support him. Show him that you genuinely care.

It is a grave injustice to a child or adult to insist that they stop crying. One can comfort a person who is crying which enables him to relax and makes further crying unnecessary; but to humiliate a crying child is to increase his pain, and augment his rigidity. We stop other people from crying because we cannot stand the sounds and movements of their bodies. It threatens our own rigidity. It induces similar feelings in ourselves which we dare not express and it evokes a resonance in our own bodies which we resist.

You know, he told me once, completely exasperated, you've got one glass of water inside your head, with all the tears for a lifetime. If you waste them over nothing, then you won't be able to cry for real when you need to.

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

For a while she cried silently until she tired herself out and the overwhelming feeling of sleepiness overcame her. The room around her was fairly silent, although she wasn’t the only one crying herself to sleep. It was quite common at places like this to hear cries in the dark. There were so many saddened and lonesome souls around her. It was usually at night when they were reminded of just how sad and lonely they actually were.

No tears come, only memories. Memories and regrets.

No teas come, only memories. Memories and regrets.

Her eyes are liquid and draining out of her.

Oft gay and honoured robes those tortures try: We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry.

I could not escape a feeling that this was my own funeral, and you do not cry in that case.

Wanting to cry doesn't mean you can.

Life is defined by time, appreciate the beauty of time;A time to plant, a time to harvest. A time to cry, a time to laugh.A time to be sad, a time to be happy. A time to be born, a time to die.

Acknowledge that some moments are just plain awful―desperate and gloomy and painful and miserable and nothing at all but anguish. No truthful, cheerful thought in the world will fix it. So let me cry awhile. Don't try to find a sunbeam where a shroud of darkness encloses me. Let me mourn. Then, after the storm, when the tears have run dry and my eyes choose to open, I will look for your rainbow of hope.

Eyes so young, so full of pain ... Two lonely drops of winter rain ... And no tear could these eyes sustain ... For too much had they seen.

My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave... Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.

Dr. Suess said: 'Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened..' I tell my dates: 'Don't cry because it happened, smile because it's over

My beautiful swan. My savior and my undoing.

At least the tears on my desk wipe away the dust that's covered this place

I didn't know someone could cry that much, I thought the tears would run out. They don't.

I think this is one bad side of a mirror; it helps us to see the reflection of the effects of our own actions on ourselves. We smile and it smiles back to us, we frown and it frowns to us. How I wish it shows us the reflections of the effects of our actions on other people as well so that we will be conscious!

When success is uniform, the celebration becomes universal. Of which use is it to you to rejoice at the time your friend cries?

Victory is in our hands! It's time for our legends to begin! Don't tremble, and don't you dare cry! Come on, show some energy!

I like the way men cry. They're efficient.

She smiled at him as they waited for their dessert, her chin poised on her clasped hands.'You're being very silent.''That's how men cry.

If you don’t know your maker, chances are that you will never know yourself. If you don’t know yourself, you will bury your meals and complain of poverty!

True leaders are ready to sweat when making rehearsal, than to cry tears when actually practicing. To save the tears, be ready to sweat!

A good mother... when you CRY, she CARRIES you; when you are HUNGRY, she will HURRY to feed you; when you are about to SLEEP, she SINGS for you! Long live good mothers! Thank you mama!

Talkatives complain, cry, shout, brag, and are more hysterical about their lives than something else; don’t be a part of that tragedy! Perhaps it's been a while now that you have been complaining, crying and shouting about your "labour pains". It's time to show us your baby!

Joy is meant to be felt; its not meant to be detained. It is meant to be shared with others; not to be felt alone. When all the mouths smile out their teeth together, thats when the greatest happiness can be measured. You don't smile in order to see your friends cry and claim your joy is divine.

Fear no more as long as her memory surrounds you like a ghost…cry no more as long as she weeps for you like a willow.

A tearless heart is a callous heart.

No tear, is a wasted tear, if it spills out for love, whether in good times or bad.

Sit with me, and I'll not be alone.Hold my hand, and I'll not feel alone.Cry with me, and I'll no longer suffer alone.

Thirsty for attention is a cry of loneliness.

He began to cry, not hysterically or screaming as people cry when concealed rage with tears, but with continuous sobs who has just discovered that he's alone and will be for long. He cried because safety and reason seemed to have left the world. Loneliness was a reality, but in this situation madness was also remotely a possibility.

I cry everyday but for a limited time

And tonight I'm feelin like an astronaut, sending sos from this tiny box,and i lost the signal when i lifted off, now i'm stuck up here and the world forgot, can i please come down? Cuz i'm tired of drifting round and round....can i please come down? Now I lie awake and scream in my zero gravity...and its starting to weigh down on me....lets abort this mission now....CAN I PLEASE COME DOWN? So tonight I'm calling all the astronauts, all the lonely people that the world forgot, if you hear my voice, come pick me up, cuz ur all i've got...

So you say there is no Father Christmas,                                                                          You say there is no Santa Claus                                                                                         Reindeer cannot fly, it's all a grown-up lie...

I believe that things we cry over because they are lost, can never be compared to things we will receive because of our loses. God is a great restorer!

— This world is full of trouble, umfundisi.— Who knows it better?— Yet you believe? Kumalo looked at him under the light of the lamp. I believe, he said, but I have learned that it is a secret. Pain and suffering, they are a secret. Kindness and love, they are a secret. But I have learned that kindness and love can pay for pain and suffering. There is my wife, and you, my friend, and these people who welcomed me, and the child who is so eager to be with us here in Ndotsheni – so in my suffering I can believe.— I have never thought that a Christian would be free of suffering, umfundisi. For our Lord suffered. And I come to believe that he suffered, not to save us from suffering, but to teach us how to bear suffering. For he knew that there is no life without suffering.Kumalo looked at his friend with joy. You are a preacher, he said.

Everyone Regenerates, different ways one regenerates by watching horror and thinking of the good side. Other cry, but in the end all reliase that there isn't purpose of thinking this topic, there isn't purpose to cry. Somebody have died and that's all and It can't be changed!

It's like, when someone asks you how you are and even though you want to say that you feel like shit, that you're miserable, that you cry until you gag and spend most of your time imagining ways to kill yourself, instead you just say, 'Fine, thanks.

Gray.The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me.Gray...

Tears are good for you," Raphael said. When she opened her eyes back up, he knelt down. His large frame seemed to make the room shrink. His face was almost level with hers as his eyes met Emma's. "They are a gift from the Creator to his creation. Tears release endorphins in the mind that help sooth and comfort. They cleanse the eyes and relieve stress, thereby lowering blood pressure and taking strain off of the heart. He created you with tears and nothing he created is bad. Those tears you are holding in are necessary, Emma. Let them fall, let them heal, and let them remind you with each one that you are not alone.

I am both numb and oversensitive, overwhelmed by the need, the raw and desperate need of the girls I am listening to and trying to help. I'm overdosing on the trauma of others, while still barely healing from my own.I cry for hour at home and have fitful nights of little sleep. My nightmares resurface as my own pain is repeated to me, magnified a thousand times. It feels insurmountable. How can you save everyone? How can you rescue them? How do you get over your pain? How do you ever feel normal?

Crying is part of the adventure

Lament invoked love.Woe invoked wonder.Grief invoked grace.Cry invoked celebration.(Page 80)

I cried for all of those things that should have just been for us...

Parched by the deprivation of your love for so long made me forget what a cup brimming with love, on my lips, felt like. Everything that now wets it, only wrinkles it with a bland taste.

If somebody hurts you, it's okay to cry a river, just remember to build a bridge and get over it.

I part my lips, but no words come out. I want to cry. Want to beg. Want to scream. But mostly, I want to hold him until I know he’s going to be okay. Then I want him to hold me until I’m okay, too.

Mourn, cry, be sad god doesn't give a fuck. The life has been taken in one or other way and it can't be done anything that's all, it's not big philosophy - it's short and it can't be more longer than this!

When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life that you have a thousand reasons to smile.Laura Miller - Butterfly Weeds

I am afraid that if I start to sob, I will never stop until I shrivel up like a raisin.

You're letting me go?"He curled his upper lip, his expression painfully bitter as he took a step back from me. "Apparently... I never had a hold of you." He turned sharply, and without another word striding down the street into the dark.Braden never once looked back and that was a good thing.If he had, he'd have seen Jocelyn Butler crying real tears for the first time in a long time, and he would have known that I'd lied. And lied big. For anyone who saw me, knew they were watching a heart in the process of it breaking.

Stay away from any minute of joy that can bring you a lifetime of sorrow.

Maybe I'd see how you could be so certain that we had no chance...at all.

Mirad had asked for peace for his birthday.Imagine, a boy of thirteen who asks for peace as a birthday present.When I heard that I cried.

Whenever she felt like crying, she would instead become angry—at someone else or at herself—which meant that it was rare for her to shed tears.

Anger was better than weeping.

There are some mornings when I cry and cry and mourn for myself. Some mornings, I'm so angry and bitter. But it doesn't last too long. Then I get up and say, 'I want to live..' 'So far, I've been able to do it. Will I be able to continue? I don't know. But I'm betting on myself I will.' Koppel seemed extremely taken with Morrie. He asked about the humility that death induced.

Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried.

People cry, not because they're weak, it's because they've been strong for too long.

Hence the migratory bird was about to leave then the other bird just querked and weeped

The worse thing I have done in my life is Diary writing.... a wastage of time, wastage of papers filled with some imaginary feelings and bunch of silly activities done each day.... I cant feel any glimpse of appreciable work done by me, as whatever right I did, my Diary says " you were suppose to do it, so it was not a big deal....huhhh..." I passed my last few nights in reading most of its pages.... "I laughed on the lines telling about my saddest moments and nights when I cried….. but I felt woeful and downhearted on the lines telling about the moments when I shared my smile with someone, when I enjoyed the moments with my friends and near and dear ones, who r far and far now, and we can’t get those moments back in this busy selfish life" So now its better in busy life to live evry day and forget it in night.... enjoy life.... save papers.... no diary writing from today..... Sorry Diary, You will Miss Me....

I've had enough of these streets that sweat a cold, yellow slime, of hostile people, of crying myself to sleep every night. I've had enough of thinking, enough of remembering.

Instead of hating, my heart cries mercy! Mercy on me! Mercy on me! Mercy on me!

If you are not satisfied with the things you have got then stop crying and start working and go get those things that will satisfy you.

Stop your whining. If you are frightened, be silent. Whining is for prey. It attracts predators. And you are not prey.

What I hate??? You ask me??? Go and fuck off... You are asking from what am I afraid??? ... For cry it on loud...

Oh yes, even I cry. Just not over you. Who is "you?" The one who has to ask or the one who doesn't?

When they know what makes you cry, they know what hurts you most. Don't give your enemies that." Solin, character in The Guardian by Sherrilyn Kenyon

Watch a movie that makes you laugh or listen to a song that makes you cry. Embrace your emotions and be proud of what you feel.

Don't cry about it. Write about it.

Your only problem, perhaps, is that you scream without letting yourself cry.

She didn't shed a tear. Angels don't cry.

I want my mom,” a little boy cried out suddenly.Every voice fell silent. The boy had said what they were all feeling.Caine hopped down from the car and went to the boy. He knelt down and took the boy’s hands in his own. He asked the boy’s name, and reintroduced himself. “We all want our parents back,” he said gently, but loudly enough to be overheard clearly by those nearest. “We all want that. And I believe that will happen. I believe we will see all our moms and dads, and older brothers and sisters, and even our teachers again. I believe that. Do you believe it, too?”“Yes.” The little boy sobbed.Caine wrapped him in a hug and said, “Be strong. Be your mommy’s strong little boy.”“He’s good,” Astrid said. “He’s beyond good.”Then Caine stood up. People had formed a circle around him, close but respectful. “We all have to be strong. We all have to get through this. If we work together to choose good leaders and do the right thing, we will make it.”The entire crowd of kids seemed to stand a little taller. There were determined looks on faces that had been weary and frightened.Sam was mesmerized by the performance. In just a few minutes’ time, Caine had infused hope into a very frightened, dispirited bunch of kids.Astrid seemed mesmerized too, though Sam thought he detected the cool glint of skepticism in her eyes.Sam was skeptical himself. He distrusted rehearsed displays. He distrusted charm. But it was hard not to think that Caine was at least trying to reach out to the Perdido Beach kids. It was hard not to believe in him, at least a little. And if Caine really did have a plan, wouldn’t that be a good thing? No one else seemed to have a clue.

It did no good to cry, she had learned that early on.

Comfort came in and stood with an appearance of guilt and shame. Her head bent, her eyes soaked with tears, her hands and legs, vibrating like a guiter string as perspiration covered her entire body, she felt like disappearing into the thin air, maybe to another mind creating world.

We feel the same emotions for our ideas as we do for the real world, which is why we can cry while reading a book, or fall in love with movie stars.

Drake's whip hand spun Diana like a top.She cried out. That sound, her cry, pierced Caine like an arrow.Diana staggered and almost righted herself, but Drake was too quick, too ready.His second strike yanked her through the air. She flew and then fell.“Catch her!” Caine was yelling to himself. Seeing her arc as she fell. Seeing where she would hit. His hands came up, he could use his power, he could catch her, save her. But too slow.Diana fell. Her head smashed against a jutting point of rock. She made a sound like a dropped pumpkin.Caine froze.The fuel rod, forgotten, fell from the air with a shattering crash.It fell within ten feet of the mine shaft opening. It landed atop a boulder shaped like the prow of a ship.It bent, cracked, rolled off the boulder, and crashed heavily in the dirt.Drake ran straight at Caine, his whip snapping. But Jack stumbled in between them, yelling, “The uranium! The uranium!”The radiation meter in his pocket was counting clicks so fast, it became a scream.Drake piled into Jack, and the two of them went tumbling.Caine stood, staring in horror at Diana. Diana did not move. Did not move. No snarky remark. No smart-ass joke.“No!” Caine cried.“No!”Drake was up, disentangling himself with an angry curse from Jack.“Diana,” Caine sobbed.Drake didn’t rely on his whip hand now, too far away to use it before Caine could take him down. He raised his gun. The barrel shot flame and slugs, BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM.Inaccurate, but on full automatic, Drake had time. He swung the gun to his right and the bullets swooped toward where Caine stood like he was made of stone.Then the muzzle flash disappeared in an explosion of green-white light that turned night into day. The shaft of light missed its target. But it was close enough that the muzzle of Drake’s gun wilted and drooped and the rocks behind Drake cracked from the blast of heat.Drake dropped the gun. And now it was Drake’s turn to stare in stark amazement. “You!”Sam wobbled atop the rise. Quinn caught him as he staggered.Now Caine snapped back to the present, seeing his brother, seeing the killing light.“No,” Caine said. “No, Sam: He’s mine.”He raised a hand, and Sam went flying backward along with Quinn.“The fuel rod!” Jack was yelling, over and over. “It’s going to kill us all. Oh, God, we may already be dead!”Drake rushed at Caine. His eyes were wide with fear. Knowing he wouldn’t make it. Knowing he was not fast enough.Caine raised his hand, and the fuel rod seemed to jump off the ground.A javelin.A spear. He held it poised. Pointed straight at Drake.Caine reached with his other hand, extending the telekinetic power to hold Drake immobilized.Drake held up his human hand, a placating gesture. “Caine…you don’t want to…not over some girl. She was a witch, she was…”Drake, unable to run, a human target. The fuel rod aimed at him like a Spartan’s spear.Caine threw the fuel rod. Tons of steel and lead and uranium.Straight at Drake.

Don’t want no more rock,” Orc repeated.The bleeding stopped almost immediately.“Does it hurt?” Lana asked. “I mean the rock. I know the hole hurts.”“No. It don’t hurt.” Orc slammed his fist against his opposite arm, hard enough that any human arm would have been shattered. “I barely feel it. Even Drake’s whip, when we was fighting, I barely felt it.”Suddenly he was weeping. Tears rolled from human eyes onto cheeks of flesh and pebbles.“I don’t feel nothing except…” He pointed a thick stone finger at the flesh of his face.“Yeah,” Lana said. Her irritation was gone. Her burden was smaller, maybe, than Orc’s.

Love more, hurt less. Laugh more, cry less. Live more, worry less. Give more, take less. Hug more, fight less. And most important.. Remember that we are all one! We are love! I LOVE YOU ALL!

Incessant smiling is one of the deadly tools used by someone whose intent is to make others cry.

When you're threatened, or something hard hits you, acknowledge it, embrace it. Don't pretend that you didn't get hurt - hurt, cry, think about it. And then you let it go and try something else.

People not cry 'coztheir weak,It Beacaus They've been srong...GFor too long !!

A child's cry touches a father's heart, and our King is the Father of his people. If we can do no more than cry it will bring omnipotence to our aid. A cry is the native language of a spiritually needy soul; it has done with fine phrases and long orations, and it takes to sobs and moans; and so, indeed, it grasps the most potent of all weapons, for heaven always yields to such artillery.

I wouldn't mindif life left me...winglessburnt to cindersripped by stormsscattered...like weedscelestially woundedwithout cherry blossomsto perish withbut I would crywith head held in my handsif it left me...unfulfilled.

Even heaven would become hell if you were alone in it, or away from a loved one. And even if you were with your loved one, but in hell, eventually you would cry to have you and your loved one together in heaven. So to create your own heaven on earth, make sure you and your loved one are in a place you both love, because what could be heaven for one, could be hell for the other.

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.

Don't cry after my death . with smiling face send me to heaven.

She was dry, dry inside like a ten-thousand-year-old tomb, with the last of her life barely dampening the dirt underneath.

Jennifer Merrick had stored all her tears inside her, and her pride and courage would never permit her to break down and shed them.

Two questions form the foundation of all novels: "What if?" and "What next?" (A third question, "What now?", is one the author asks himself every 10 minutes or so; but it's more a cry than a question.) Every novel begins with the speculative question, What if "X" happened? That's how you start.

Take time to laugh, to talk, to hug, and to cry. These are the human relief valves.

You get confused by crying women, I get confused by walks with princes.

let yourself cry, OK? One of the worst feelings in the world is being unable to cry and eventually it…starts to make things darker.

A friend is he who can feel your heart's beating and dance with it when it is joyful, cry with it when it is torn, and inspire when it is in need.

She lit fire to the bridges and forts she built all these years, and she walked into it smiling and tears rolling down her cheeks.

I feel there will be a time. A time when there will be no agony. I will never cry. There will come a time when my smile will be genuine. You will be able to tell. I feel there will come a time when the winds will carry all the wrinkles away when the rain will bring beauty with it when the sun shine will carry the birds my way. When the flowers will be welcome in this world. The pain I feel will not stay forever. Nothing will last. The good brought bad with it. I know the bad has already begun. What I know more is that the good is hidden in it. It is never gone. It will never go. And I will wait!

I follow the path we’ve taken so many times this summer – across the front, down the street, cut back through a neighbor’s yard, down the stairs to the beach, past the pier, through the campfire labyrinth, up to the deck of the Shack, and straight into Sam’s arms. Without speaking, he kisses me hard on the mouth and I kiss him back, sobbing and crumpling into his chest like a broken puppet.

Put my head under my pillow, and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.

Those million mistakes you did may not make you cry, but the ones you dint try might make you to.

He cried, almost entire night. He cried alone in his small shed. That was only game that he could play without needing another person to participate.

She cried aloud, with a great mourning cry for all that she had never known in this life, and the agony of a bereavement unguessed till this moment.

And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them?

Rosy lifted her arm, tried to say something, then pointed at the cafe, held her head, covered her mouth and—humiliation of humiliations—she began to cry. Right there in the street. “I’m so confused,” she said but it came out as a great honking wail.“Come here, you silly girl,” Phyllis said.The woman put her arms around Rosy, patted her back, and for the first time in forever, Rosy allowed herself to just cry.A young mother with twins in a pram passed them. The children’s eyes tracked Rosy for a second before their faces crumpled and they started to cry too.“I’m sorry,” Rosy said, and flapped her arms. “I’m sorry.

Each tear being shed holds a thousand pounds of truth.

We want books that are written for those of us who doubt everything, who cry over the least little thing, who are startled by the slightest noise.

His other hand finds my cheek, and he wipes away my tears with his thumb. The chocolate scent overwhelms me as he bends over and whispers in my ear, “No, Cassie. No, no, no.”I throw my arm around his neck and press his dry cheek against my wet one. I’m shaking like an epileptic, and for the first time I can feel the weight of the quilts on the top of my toes because the blinding dark sharpens your other senses.I’m a bubbling stew of random thoughts and feelings. I’m worried my hair might smell. I want some chocolate. This guy holding me—well, it’s more like I was holding him—has seen me in all my naked glory. What did he think about my body? What did I think about my body? Does God really care about promises? Do I really care about God? Are miracles something like the Red Sea parting or more like Evan Walker finding me locked in a block of ice in a wilderness of white?“Cassie, it’s going to be okay,” he whispers into my ear, chocolate breath.

When we see others cry it is difficult, not because of feeling their pain, but your own.

She screamed. Her screaming was beautiful. But, truth be told he missed the crying.

If your eyes can not cry, then your gut will."The head and heart may be in denial of your human needs, but the gut will always carry the wisdom of your needs met and unmet, and thusly respond.

Crying doesn't make you weak. There's sixteen years of tears in that body of yours, and you have to let some of it go.

Don't cry for someone who would love smiling when your tears are flowing.

So you want we to play a game?...Aha, I like that...!I FUCKING LOVE IT!

The dead shouldn’t cry, not even the lesser dead.

She didn't mind a little rain. At least no one would see her cry.

If we didn't have strong feelings, how could we love or fight? When our flesh is cut, we bleed. When our heart is broken, we cry. There's nothing wrong with that. It only becomes a problem when it gets in the way of what you have to do. You can't crumble when others are counting on you.

An answering smile drifted across his tanned face. "What is mine, I intend tokeep.

But he knew instinctively what he suggested was impossible. She'd been through so much, and held her tears back for so long, that Royce doubted that anything could force her to shed them.

Lying there, feeling safe in his tight embrace, a tear escaped my resolute eye and darkened his purple shirt. I usually do not cry when I am afraid, but invariably did when I felt safe and cocooned, like I felt in the confines of his strong, sure arms.

Tears are not thorns.

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears.While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick’s furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

He didn’t mind Drake so much. Drake was a creep.It was the girl who made Orc want to cry.She was a monster. Like Orc. Begging for death. Begging for someone to let her go to her Jesus.Kill me, kill me, kill me, she begged every day and every night.Orc took a deep swig.Tears seeped from his human eyes and fell into the rocky crevices of his face.

God will hear your cry even when your voice can't shout out loud unto him. He will see your tears even when can no longer shed any.

I cry as the laughter inside me drowns and descends into the water with the ghosts of our union.

Sometimes you want to cry but the tears deceive you, but at other, you just want to hold the tears but they disobey you.

Sunny held Kit, and Violet held Klaus, and for a minute the four castaways did nothing but weep, letting their tears run down their faces and into the sea, which some have said is nothing but a library of all tears in history.

Hana?" Lena says softly. "Are you okay?"That single stupid question breaks me. All the metal fingers relax me at once, and the tears they've been holding back come surging up at once. Suddenly I am sobbing and telling her everything: about the raid, and the dogs, and the sounds of skulls cracking underneath regulator's nightsticks. Thinking about it again makes me feel like I might puke. At a certain point, Lena puts her arms around me and starts murmuring things into my hair. I don't even know what she's saying, and I don't care. JUst having her here—solid, real, on my side—makes me feel better than I have in weeks. Slowly I manage to stop crying, swallowing back the hiccups and sobs that are still running through me. I try to tell her that I've missed her, and that I've been stupid and wrong, but my voice is muffled and thick

When you love someone, truly love them, you lay your heart open to them. You give them a part of yourself that you give to no one else, and you let them inside a part of you that only they can hurt-you literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. And when they do strike, it’s crippling-like having your heart carved out.

Tears will not fill your stomach; Tears will not bring kindness. If you have time to shed tears, laugh; someone will be willing to look at a hearty smile more then a tear soaked sponge.

You must have traveled all night,” she heard herself say. “I had to come back early.” She felt his lips brush her tumbled hair. “I left some things unfinished. But I had a feeling you might need me. Tell me what’s happened, sweetheart.” Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but to her mortification, the only sound she could make was a sort of miserable croak. Her self-control shattered. She shook her head and choked on more sobs, and the more she tried to stop them, the worse they became. Cam gripped her firmly, deeply, into his embrace. The appalling storm of tears didn’t seem to bother him at all. He took one of Amelia’s hands and flattened it against his heart, until she could feel the strong, steady beat. In a world that was disintegrating around her, he was solid and real. “It’s all right,” she heard him murmur. “I’m here.” Alarmed by her own lack of self-discipline, Amelia made a wobbly attempt to stand on her own, but he only hugged her more closely. “No, don’t pull away. I’ve got you.” He cuddled her shaking form against his chest. Noticing Poppy’s awkward retreat, Cam sent her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, little sister.” “Amelia hardly ever cries,” Poppy said. “She’s fine.” Cam ran his hand along Amelia’s spine in soothing strokes. “She just needs…” As he paused, Poppy said, “A shoulder to lean on.” “Yes.” He drew Amelia to the stairs, and gestured for Poppy to sit beside them. Cradling Amelia on his lap, Cam found a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped her eyes and nose. When it became apparent that no sense could be made from her jumbled words, he hushed her gently and held her against his large, warm body while she sobbed and hid her face. Overwhelmed with relief, she let him rock her as if she were a child. As Amelia hiccupped and quieted in his arms, Cam asked a few questions of Poppy, who told him about Merripen’s condition and Leo’s disappearance, and even about the missing silverware. Finally getting control of herself, Amelia cleared her aching throat. She lifted her head from Cam’s shoulder and blinked. “Better?” he asked, holding the handkerchief up to her nose. Amelia nodded and blew obediently. “I’m sorry,” she said in a muffled voice. “I shouldn’t have turned into a watering pot. I’m finished now.” Cam seemed to look right inside her. His voice was very soft. “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t have to be finished, either.” She realized that no matter what she did or said, no matter how long she wanted to cry, he would accept it. And he would comfort her.

No, my young apprentice. You said the exact right thing. Again. I'm just laughing at life.""Why?" he asked, opening both his eyes."Because sometimes it's either laugh or cry. I prefer laugh. How about you?

When was the last time you had a good belly-shaking-tear-jerking-snot-producing laugh?That long?

I will love you like the desert burns along the sun when they are together,and when you will be gone,just like every one else,I will cry for you like the snow that melts at the first hint of summer...and hoping that you'll be backI will miss you like the clouds lose themselves when it rains...

It's rally bad when dads cry.

It is useless to cry over a thing which is not belong to you....

To some life is a complaint, to some it is a competition and to some it is a conquest.

I could lose my mind, your love drives me crazy, and I ignore the reason why I'm crying at everytime I remember it's not reciprocal and you're saying that you're sorry because you don't show everything.

You will never see me surrender, never see me cry, but you will often see me walk away. Turn around and just leave, without looking back.

Death gets a bad rap. People think that euthanasia is putting their pets “down” when it really is lifting us up. In the first moment, when we come back to earth, we remember the comfort of the Heaven we came from and this is why we cry when we are born. When we are born in Heaven we come in laughing not crying! In birth we have the passage and then the pain. In death we have the pain and then the passage.

He placed his hand on Willem's arm. 'Willem, don't cry.''I'm not going to,' he said. 'I can do other things in life besides cry, you know,' although he was no longer sure that was even true.

They wouldn’t have understood if they found him crying, when he woke and remembered all at once that he had once had a wife and child, so they never found him this way.

if woman cries ,it doesn't matter , but if a man cry it matter

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

Day after day you find a way to make this grown man cry.

I'll never let it happen. I'll do everything in my power to keep my sister at home."I don't want to have a civilized discussion. My parents want to send my sister to a facility behind my back and my head feels like it's about to split open. Leave me alone, okay?"Something is sticking out of my pocket. It's Alex's bandanna. Isabel isn't a friend, yet she helped me. And Alex, a boy who cared about me last night more than my own boyfriend did, acted as my hero and is urging me to be real. Do I even know how to be real?I clutch the bandanna to my chest.And I allow myself to cry.

I thought you were dead,” I say. “It almost killed me.”“Did it?” His voice is neutral. “You made a pretty fast recovery.”“No. You don’t understand.” My throat is tight; I feel as though I’m being strangled. “I couldn’t keep hoping, and then waking up every day and finding out it wasn’t true, and you were still gone. I—I wasn’t strong enough.”He is quiet for a second. It’s too dark to see his expression: He is standing in shadow again, but I can sense that he is staring at me.Finally he says, “When they took me to the Crypts, I thought they were going to kill me. They didn’t even bother. They just left me to die. They threw me in a cell and locked the door.”“Alex.” The strangled feeling has moved from my throat to my chest, and without realizing it, I have begun to cry. I move toward him. I want to run my hands through his hair and kiss his forehead and each of his eyelids and take away the memory of what he has seen. But he steps backward, out of reach.“I didn’t die. I don’t know how. I should have. I’d lost plenty of blood. They were just as surprised as I was. After that it became a kind of game—to see how much I could stand. To see how much they could do to me before I’d—”He breaks off abruptly. I can’t hear any more; don’t want to know, don’t want it to be true, can’t stand to think of what they did to him there. I take another step forward and reach for his chest and shoulders in the dark. This time, he doesn’t push me away. But he doesn’t embrace me either. He stands there, cold, still, like a statue.“Alex.” I repeat his name like a prayer, like a magic spell that will make everything okay again. I run my hands up his chest and to his chin. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”Suddenly he jerks backward, simultaneously finding my wrists and pulling them down to my sides. “There were days I would rather they have killed me.” He doesn’t drop my wrists; he squeezes them tightly, pinning my arms, keeping me immobilized. His voice is low, urgent, and so full of anger it pains me even more than his grip. “There were days I asked for it—prayed for it when I went to sleep. The belief that I would see you again, that I could find you—the hope for it—was the only thing that kept me going.” He releases me and takes another step backward. “So no. I don’t understand.

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)

Sometimes there a hundred lies behind a smile and not a single truth behind a tear.

I can't remember how to cry.

At some point, I had to start laughing, because I was all wrung out from crying.

... sometimes in life, you either laugh or you cry. And I prefer to laugh.

We seem to live in a world where you have to walk around grinning like a loon. I can’t understand all the fuss about Mona Lisa painting, everyone wondering why she’s not smiling, if she’s depressed or heartbroken. No, she was just normal!Emotions are always extreme these days: you either have to be crying with laughter or crying in pain. No wonder water levels are rising. It’s not global warming, it’s all the tears from crying.

If you are thinking whether to cry or laugh, cry.