A Quote by Steven Morrissey

Again, I lay awake, and I cried because of waste. — © Steven Morrissey
Again, I lay awake, and I cried because of waste.
Strip back the beliefs pasted on by governesses, schools, and states, you find indelible truths at one's core. Rome'll decline and fall again, Cortés'll lay Tenochtitlán to waste again, and later, Ewing will sail again, Adrian'll be blown to pieces again, you and I'll sleep under the Corsican stars again, I'll come to Bruges again, fall in and out of love with Eva again, you'll read this letter again, the sun'll grow cold again. Nietzsche's gramophone record. When it ends, the Old One plays it again, for an eternity of eternities.
I cried in English, I cried in french, I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world.
I would lay awake nights and cry a lot thinking, is my dad gonna come home? Is he gonna go to jail again? Is he going to get killed?
I cried over beauty, I cried over pain, and the other time I cried because I felt nothing. I can't help it. I'm just a cliché of myself.
I remember the last season I played. I went home after a ballgame one day, lay down on my bed, and tears came to my eyes. How can you explain that? It's like crying for your mother after she's gone. You cry because you love her. I cried, I guess, because I loved baseball, and I knew I had to leave it.
I waste at least an hour every day lying in bed. Then I waste time pacing. I waste time thinking. I waste time being quiet and not saying anything because I'm afraid I'll stutter.
My mother died when I was five, and all I did was sit and cry. I cried and cried and cried all day, until the neighbors went away.
Once it happened, as I lay awake at night, that I suddenly spoke in verses, in verses so beautiful and strange that I did not venture to think of writing them down, and then in the morning they vanished; and yet they lay hidden within me like the hard kernel within an old brittle husk.
I mean, I cried on my first red carpet. I literally walked off and cried because there were so many people and they were all taking pictures and I just felt overwhelmed because I'm a feeler and I'm sensitive.
And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again.
As soon as you awake, in order Lay the actions to be done the coming day.
The first time I didn't get called back at an audition, I cried. My mom told me, 'We're doing this for fun, and if it's not fun anymore, we're not going to do it. So if you ever cry again, we're going to stop.' I never cried from then on, and I kept that lesson for the rest of my life.
She cried for the life she could not control. She cried for the mentor who had died before her eyes. She cried for the profound loneliness that filled her heart. But, above all, she cried for the future ... which suddenly felt so uncertain.
Tonight I think again of many days that are sacrificed for one night of love. Of the waste and the fruit of the waste, of plenty and of fire. And how painlessly-time.
She cried for herself, she cried because she was afraid that she herself might die in the night, because she was alone in the world, because her desperate and empty life was not an overture but an ending, and through it all she could see was the rough, brutal shape of a coffin.
I lay and cried, and began to feel again, to admit I was human, vulnerable, sensitive. I began to remember how it had been before; how there was that germ of positive creativeness. Character is fate; and damn, I'd better work on my character. I had been withdrawing into a retreat of numbness: it is so much safer to NOT feel, NOT to let the world touch one.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!