A Quote by Margaret Atwood

No matter how much you've been warned, Death always comes without knocking. Why now? is the cry. Why so soon? It's the cry of a child being called home at dusk. — © Margaret Atwood
No matter how much you've been warned, Death always comes without knocking. Why now? is the cry. Why so soon? It's the cry of a child being called home at dusk.
Why do we smile? Why do we laugh? Why do we feel alone? Why are we sad and confused? Why do we read poetry? Why do we cry when we see a painting? Why is there a riot in the heart when we love? Why do we feel shame? What is that thing in the pit of your stomach called desire?
Why does a man cry? he wondered. Not like a woman; not for that. Not for sentiment. A man cries over the loss of something, something alive. A man can cry over a sick animal that he knows won't make it. The death of a child: a man can cry for that. But not because things are sad. A man, he thought, cries not for the future or the past but for the present.
I was always called a cry baby, and I was one. I cried a lot as a child. In fact, I still cry a few times a day. I'm still a cry baby.
I'm a crier. I always cry. I cry at the dumbest things, too. This is why I sort of steer clear of movies and films that I know are going to be depressing. I don't care how many awards they've won - I know they're good. I don't need to watch them, because I don't want to be depressed, and I don't want to cry.
If you don’t learn how to cry, you cannot be a good Christian. When they posed this question to us – why children suffer, why this or that tragedy occurs in life – our response must be either silence or a word that is born of our tears. Be courageous, don’t be afraid to cry.
I keep a lot of my problems bottled up inside me. That's why it's good, it's bad because I go through it, but it's really, what the fu*k I'm going through. That's why I ain't able to cry, I could try to make myself cry and it won't happen. But at the same time somebody could hear my song and they gonna cry for me.
Sometimes when I'm alone I Cry, Cause I am on my own. The tears I cry are bitter and warm. They flow with life but take no form I Cry because my heart is torn. I find it difficult to carry on. If I had an ear to confide in, I would cry among my treasured friend, but who do you know that stops that long, to help another carry on. The world moves fast and it would rather pass by. Then to stop and see what makes one cry, so painful and sad. And sometimes... I Cry and no one cares about why.
Storm the castle Stem the tide Rise above yourself Cry baby cry Cry cry to heaven If that doesn't do it for you Go ahead and cry like hell
The people are living seperately together," he said. "So there is responsibility. I cry, you cry. You cry, I cry. We all come running, and the one that stays quiet, the one that stays home, must explain. Is he in league with the criminals? Is he a coward? And what would he expect when he cries? This is simple. This is normal. This is community.
If we can choose where to cry, at home or with a few people who will be fully understanding, perhaps we will feel easier. But if we can't - if we are in church and a hymn catches us off guard, or at a football game and we remember being there with a son or daughter now gone - well, the earth is our home and we can cry where we want.
Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone? Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own? Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep. Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps. Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand. Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man. Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain. Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again. Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be. Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?
I grew up in a neighborhood that was heavily policed. I witnessed my brothers and my siblings continuously stopped and frisked by law enforcement. I remember my home being raided. And one of my questions as a child was, why? Why us? Black Lives Matter offers answers to the why.
I always say if music can't make you cry, you're a hopeless case. I don't cry very much myself, but it's my job to make you cry.
Even the cry from the depths is an affirmation: Why cry if there is no hint of hope of hearing?
I'm sad. Pressed down by sorrow. I'm angry. Pissed at God, if there is one, and the way things are. I'm scared. Confused by the whys. Why are we here? Is there, really, some intelligent design? Why do we cry for someone who leaves us if there's some Grand Pearly Gate in the sky? Why worry about how we build our lives if the ultimate ending for all is death, a single breath away? (358)
Why is a woman's sexuality always under so much scrutiny? Why can't she do exactly what she please without being called a million things?
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