Crying Quotes

“We have the destiny to meet across a thousand miles.”
― Sher Lee, Fake Dates and Mooncakes

“She shut her eyes against the realisation rising within her like a tidal wave. It would sweep away everything in its path once she admitted it. Consume her entirely. The thought was enough for her to straighten and wipe away her tears. 'I can't accept this.'

'It was made for you,' he smiled softly.

She couldn't bear that smile, his kindness and joy, as she corrected. 'I will not accept it.' She placed the orb back in its box and handed it to him. 'Return it.'

His eyes shuttered. 'It's a gift, not a fucking wedding ring.'

She stiffened. 'No, I'll look to Eris for that.'

He went still. 'Say that again.'

She made her face cold, the only shield she had against him. 'Rhys says Eris wants me for his bride. He'll do anything we want in exchange for my hand.'

The Siphons atop Cassian's hands flickered. 'You aren't considering saying yes.'

She said nothing. Let him believe the worst.

He snarled. 'I see. I get a little too close and you shove me away again. Back to where it's safe. Better to marry a viper like Eris than be with me.'

'I am not with you,' she snapped. 'I am fucking you.'

'The only thing fit for a bastard-born brute, right?'

'I didn't say that.'

'You don't need to. You've said it a thousand times before.'

'Then why did you bother to cut in at the ball?'

'Because I was fucking jealous!' he roared, wings splaying. 'You looked like a queen, and it was painfully obvious that you should be with a princeling like Eris and not a low-born nothing like me! Because I couldn't stand the sight of it, right down to my gods-damned bones! But go ahead, Nesta. Go ahead and fucking marry him and good fucking luck to you!'

'Eris is the brute,' she shot back. 'He is a brute and a piece of shit. And I would marry him because I am just like him!'

The words echoed through the room.

His pained face gutted her. 'I deserve Eris.' Her voice cracked.

Cassian panted, his eyes still lit with fury- and now with shock.

Nesta said hoarsely. 'You are good, Cassian. And you are brave, and brilliant, and kind. I could kill anyone who has ever made you feel less than that- less than what you are. And I know I'm a part of that group, and I hate it.' Her eyes burned, but she fought past it. 'You are everything I have never been, and will never be good enough for. Your friends know it, and I have carried it around with me all this time- that I do not deserve you.

The fury slid from his face.

Nesta didn't stop the tears that flowed, or the words that tumbled out. 'I didn't deserve you before the war, or afterward, and I certainly don't now.' She let out a low, broken laugh. 'Why do you think I shoved you away? Why do you think I wouldn't speak to you?' She put a hand on her aching chest. 'After my father died, after I failed in so many ways- denying myself of you...' She sobbed. 'It was my punishment. Don't you understand that?' She could barely see him through her tears. 'From the moment I met you, I wanted you more than reason From the moment I saw you in my house, you were all I could think about. And it terrified me. No one had ever held such power over me. And I am still terrified that if I let myself have you... it will be taken away. Someone will take it away, and if you're dead...' She buried her face in her hands. 'It doesn't matter,' she whispered. 'I do not deserve you, and I never, ever will.'

Utter silence filled the room. Such silence that she wondered if he'd left, and lowered her hands to see if he was there.

Cassian stood before her. Tears streaming down his beautiful, perfect face.

She didn't balk from it, letting him see her like this: her most raw, most base self. He'd always seen all of her, anyway.

He opened his mouth and tried to speak. Had to swallow and try again.

Nesta saw all the words in his eyes, though. The same ones she knew lay in her own.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“Oak puts a hand on my arm. I startle.

'You all right?' he asks.

'When they first took me from the mortal world to the Court of Teeth, Lord Jarel and Lady Nore tried to be nice to me. They gave me good things to eat and dressed me in fancy dresses and told me that I was their princess and would be a beautiful and beloved queen,' I tell him, the words slipping from my lips before I can call them back. I occupy myself with searching deeper in the closet so I don't have to see his face as I speak. 'I cried constantly, ceaselessly. For a week, I wept and wept until they could bear it no more.'

Oak is silent. Though he knew me as a child, he never knew me as that child, the one who still believed the world could be kind.

But then, he had sisters who were stolen. Perhaps they had cried, too.

'Lord Jarel and Lady Nore told their servants to enchant me to sleep, and the servants did. But it never lasted. I kept weeping.'

He nods, just a little, as though more movement might break the spell of my speaking.

'Lord Jarel came to me with a beautiful glass dish in which there was flavoured ice,' I tell him. 'When I took a bite, the flavour was indescribably delicious. It was as though I were eating dreams.'

'You will have this every day if you cease you're crying,' he said.

'But I couldn't stop.

'Then he came to me with a necklace of diamonds, as cold and beautiful as ice. When I put it on, my eyes shone, my hair sparkled, and my skin shimmered as though glitter had been poured over it. I looked wondrously beautiful. But when he told me to stop crying, I couldn't.

'Then he became angry, and he told me that if I didn't stop, he would turn my tears to glass that would cut my cheeks. And that's what he did.

'But I cried until it was hard to tell the difference between tears and blood. And after that, I began to teach myself how to break their curses. They didn't like that.

'And so they told me I would be able to see the humans again- that's what they called them, the humans- in a year, for a visit, but only if I was good.

'I tried. I choked back tears. And on the wall beside my bed, I scratched the number of days in the ice.

'One night I returned to my room to find the scratches weren't the way I remembered. I was sure it had been five months, but the scratches made it seem as though it had been only a little more than three.

'And that was when I realised I was never going home, but by then the tears wouldn't come, no matter how much I willed them. And I never cried again.'

His eyes shone with horror.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“I felt the ripple in the darkness without having to look up, and didn't flinch at the soft footsteps that approached me. I didn't bother hoping that it would be Tamlin. 'Still weeping?'

Rhysand.

I didn't lower my hands from my face. The floor rose toward the lowering ceiling- I would soon be flattened. There was no colour, no light here.

'You're just beaten her second task. Tears are unnecessary.'

I wept harder, and he laughed. The stones reverberated as he knelt before me, and though I tried to fight him, his grip was firm as he grasped my wrists and pried my hands from my face.

The walls weren't moving, and the room was open- gaping. No colours, but shades of darkness, of night. Only those star-flecked violet eyes were bright, full of colour and light. He gave me a lazy smile before he leaned forward.

I pulled away, but his hands were like shackles. I could do nothing as his mouth met with my cheek, and he licked away a tear. His tongue was hot against my skin, so startling that I couldn't move as he licked away another path of salt water, and then another. My body went taut and loose all at once and I burned, even as chills shuddered along my limbs. It was only when his tongue danced along the damp edges of my lashes that I jerked back.

He chuckled as I scrambled for the corner of the cell. I wiped my face as I glared at him.

He smirked, sitting down against a wall. 'I figured that would get you to stop crying.'

'It was disgusting.' I wiped my face again.

'Was it?' He quirked an eyebrow and pointed to his palm- to the place where my tattoo would be. 'Beneath all your pride and stubbornness, I could have sworn I detected something that felt differently. Interesting.'

'Get out.'

'As usual, your gratitude is overwhelming.'

'Do you want me to kiss your feet for what you did at the trial? Do you want me to offer another week of my life?'

'Not unless you feel compelled to do so,' he said, his eyes like stars.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.
So after, when he whispers, 'You love me. Real or not real?'
I tell him, 'Real.”
― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

“My lower lip trembled, and I began unbuttoning my gown, then tugged it off my shoulders.

I let it slide to the ground in a sigh of silk and tulle and beading, a deflated soufflé on the marble floor, and took a large step out of it. Even my undergarments were ridiculous, frothy scraps of lace, intended solely for Tamlin to admire- and then tear into ribbons.

I snatched up the gown, storming to the armoire and shoving it inside. Then I stripped off the undergarments and chucked them in as well.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“And maybe I was exhausted and broken, but I breathed, 'I killed them.'

I hadn't said the words aloud since it had happened.

Cassian's lips tightened. 'I know.' Not condemnation, not praise. But grim understanding.

My hands slackened as another shuddering sob worked its way through me. 'It should have been me.'

And there it was.

Standing there under the cloudless sky, the winter sun beating on my head, nothing around me save for rock, no shadows in which to hide, nothing to cling to... There it was.

Then darkness swept in, soothing, gentle darkness- no, shade- and a sweat-slicked male body halted before me. Gentle fingers lifted my chin until I looked up... at Rhysand's face.

His wings had wrapped around us, cocooned us, the sunlight casting the membrane in gold and red. Beyond us, outside, in another world, maybe, the sound of steel on steel- Cassian and Azriel sparring- began.

'You will feel that way every day for the rest of your life,' Rhysand said. This close, I could smell the sweat on him the sea-and-citrus sent beneath it. His eyes were soft. I tried to look away, but he held my chin firm. 'And I know this because I have felt that way every day since my mother and sister were slaughtered and I had to bury them myself, and even retribution didn't fix it.' He wiped away the tears on one cheek, then another. 'You can either let it wreck you, let it get you killed like it nearly did with the Weaver, or you can learn to live with it.'

For a long moment, I just stared at the open, calm face- maybe his true face, the one beneath all the masks he wore to keep his people safe. 'I'm sorry- about your family,' I rasped.

'I'm sorry I didn't find a way to spare you from what happened Under the Mountain,' Rhys said with equal quiet. 'From dying. From wanting to die.' I began to shake my head, but he said, 'I have two kinds of nightmares: the one when I'm again Amarantha's whore or my friends are... And the ones where I hear your neck snap and see the light leave your eyes.'

I had no answer to that- to the tenor in his rich, deep voice. So I examined the tattoos on his chest and arms, the glow of his tan skin, so golden now that he was no longer caged inside that mountain.

I stopped my perusal when I got to the vee of muscles that flowed beneath the waist of his leather pants.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“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”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“The only way he could put out his burning eyes was to cry.”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Tajrish

“do you remember the night i left all my tears on your skin?”
― Jasmin Kaur, When You Ask Me Where I'm Going

“In harsh times, and as a last resort, cry yourself out. Express your desperation.”
― Mitta Xinindlu

“Crying heart can never laugh!”
― Mahiraj Jadeja, Love Forever

“Sometimes crying is the only tool we have left. Sometimes it helps us begin to heal.”
― Courtney M. Privett, Arrow of Entropy

“But then Cassian crossed to Nesta, the guards stiffening as the Illyrian moved through them as if they were stalks of wheat in a field.

He studied Nesta for a long moment. She was still glaring at the queens, her eyes lined with tears- tears of rage and despair, from the fire that burned her so violently from within. When she finally noticed Cassian, she looked up at him.

His voice was rough as he said, 'Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house- your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.'

I watched a tear slide down Nesta's cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away.

She did not flinch from his touch.

I didn't know why, but I looked at Mor.

Her eyes were wide. Not from jealously, or irritation, but... something perhaps like awe.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“Nesta took a breath. And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears... When Nesta looked at me...

Rage. Power. Cunning.

Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn't pause, didn't halt. She was free- she was loose.

She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth-

Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, 'Get off her!'

Elain's feet slipped against the floor, but Nesta gripped her upright, running her hands over Elain's face, her shoulders, her hair- 'Elain, Elain, Elain,' she sobbed.

Cassian again stirred- trying to rise, to answer Nesta's voice as she held my sister and cried her name again and again.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“im sorry this poem is so sad
its not even a poem its just me crying”
― Theo Thimo, OMG THE DAY

“If you have no tragedy, you have no comedy. Crying and laughing are the same emotion. If you laugh too hard, you cry. And vice versa.”
― Sid Caesar

“Rheumy eyes replaced recitals of Rumi ghazals.”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Tajrish

“The walls were now witnessing an innocent girl cry.”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Tajrish

“But not awesome enough to stay.”
― Lucy Score, Things We Never Got Over

“She must miss him, doesn't she?
Doesn't the whole world?
Sometimes when it rains, I imagine it as the earth crying for him.”
― Amanda Linsmeier

“I do. I want five hundred an hour,” I tell him, keeping my voice even and strong.

“Five hundred? Do you think you have some kind of unicorn pussy?”
― C. Hallman, The Hate Vow

“Nesta didn't see the lake, or the stones, or the sunlight and green.

Her vision blurred, and her eyes stung as if they had been sliced- cleaved open to allow the tears to pass.

She made it to the stones before she fell to her knees, so hard the rock bit into her bones. Was she worth being counted?

She knew the answer. Had always known it.

Cassian whirled toward her, but Nesta didn't see him, either, or hear his words..

Not as she buried her face in her hands and wept.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“Once the wrenching, gaping sounds came out of her, Nesta knew she could not stop.

She knelt on the shore of that mountain lake and let go entirely.

She allowed every horrible thought to hit her, wash through her. Let herself see Feyre's pale, devastated face as Nesta had revealed the truth, as she'd let her own anger and pain ride her.

She could never outlive it, her guilt. There was no point in trying. She sobbed into the darkness of her hands.

And then the stones clicked, and a warm, steady presence appeared beside her. He didn't touch her, but his voice was nearby as he said, 'I'm here.'

She sobbed harder at that. She couldn't stop. As if a dam had burst and only letting the water run its course, raging through her, would suffice.

'Nesta.' His fingers grazed her shoulder.

She couldn't bear that touch. The kindness in it.

'Please,' she said.

Her first word in five days.

He stilled. 'Please what?'

She leaned from him. 'Don't touch me. Don't- don't be kind to me.' The words were a sobbing, rippling jumble.

'Why?'

The list of reasons surged, fighting to get out, to voice themselves, and she let them decide. Let them flow through her, as she whispered, 'I let him die.'

He went quiet.

Through her hands on her face, she continued to whisper. 'He came to save me, and fought for me, and I let him die with hate in my heart. Hate for him. He died because I didn't stop it.' Her voice broke, and she wept harder. 'And I was so horrid to him, until the very end. I was so, so horrid to him all my life- and still he somehow loved me. I didn't deserve it, but he did. And I let him die.'

She bowed over her knees, saying into her palms, 'I can't undo it. I can't fix it. I can't fix that he is dead, I can't fix what I said to Feyre, I can't fix any of the horrible things I've done. I can't fix me.'

She sobbed so hard she thought her body would break with it. Wanted her body to come apart like a cracked egg, wanted what was left of her soul to drift away on the mountain wind.

She whispered, 'I can't bear it.'

Cassian said quietly, 'It isn't your fault.'

She shook her head, face still in her hands, as if it'd shield her from him, but he said, 'Your father's death is not your fault. I was there, Nesta. I looked for a way out of it, too. And there was nothing that could have been done.'

'I could have used my power. I could have tried-'

'Nesta.' Her name was a sigh- as if he were pained. Then his arms were around her, and she was being pulled into his lap. She didn't fight it, not as he tucked her against his chest. Into his strength and warmth.

'I could have found a way. I should have found a way.'

His hand began stroking her hair.

Her entire body, right down to her bones, trembled.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“His tears dripped onto her face, and she reached up to brush them away. He leaned his head into her hand, nuzzling her palm.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“Sometimes tears are the only words worth sharing.”
― Meagan Church, The Last Carolina Girl

“...und ich heule, weil ich nicht verstehe, wie sich etwas Schönes und Warmes in etwas Hässliches und Kaltes verwandeln konnte.”
― Olivia Kuderewski, Haha Heartbreak

“When I awake each morning, I thank God for another day. I ask how I can make the world a little bit better. I’m only one man, but you’ve allowed me to write for you Dear God. With each letter I type, I feel you Dear God, and this anger, division; lies told about one another tears our world apart. To gain a person’s confidence with manipulation never last. Sooner or later the large curtain will open, and will drop to our knees crying, wondering why we chose the path of hatred knowing this could never build good morals? It will always be that spark of Godhood that will surface, to pick us up and show the way. Amen.”
― Ron Baratono

“Crying, laughing, and screaming are expressions that result from felt emotions. Express yourself in the manner that is most comfortable to you.”
― Mitta Xinindlu

“Before she knew what she was about, Alice dropped her scissors and flung herself into Giles’s strong arms, ducking her head into his chest, the tears clogging her throat as she whimpered his name over and over.”
― Grace Hitchcock, Hearts of Gold Collection