Aria Of Sorrow Quotes

To be happy to be sad and sad to be happy is to sing an echo in that beautiful language called Sorrow.

16 luglio. Quale brivido mi corre nelle vene quando per caso le mie dita toccano le sue, quando i nostri piedi s'incontrano sotto la tavola! Mi ritiro come dal fuoco, una segreta forza mi spinge avanti di nuovo, e tutti i miei sensi sono presi da vertigine. E la sua innocenza, la sua anima ignara non le lasciano comprendere come queste piccole familiarità mi fanno male. Se, parlando, lei posa la sua mano sulla mia, se nel calore della conversazione si avvicina a me in modo che il suo alito divino sfiori le mie labbra, io credo di morire, come percosso dal fulmine. E se una volta, Guglielmo, quell'anima celeste e fiduciosa io osassi... tu mi capisci? No, il mio cuore non è così corrotto! Ma è debole, molto debole, e questa non è forse corruzione? Lei mi è sacra. Ogni desiderio tace alla sua presenza. Non posso dire quello che succede in me quando le sono vicino; mi pare che tutta l'anima si riversi nei miei nervi. Carlotta sa una melodia che suona al pianoforte con un'angelica espressione, con grande semplicità e spirito. E' la sua aria preferita, e appena suona la prima nota, fuggono lontano da me pene, preoccupazioni, capricci. Sono così preso da quella semplice melodia che non mi pare inverosimile niente di quel che si racconta del fascino della musica antica. E come lei sa cominciarla al momento opportuno, proprio quando starei per tirarmi una palla nella testa. Il cupo turbamento della mia anima si dissipa, e io di nuovo respiro liberamente.

Andy’s Message Around the time I received Arius’ email, Andy’s message arrived. He wrote: Young, I do remember Rick Samuels. I was at the seminar in the Bahriji when he came to lecture. Like you I was at once mesmerized by his style and beauty, which of course was a false image manufactured by the advertising agencies and sales promoters. I was surprised to hear your backroom story of him being gangbanged in the dungeon. We are not ones to judge since both of us had been down that negative road of self-loathing. This seems to be a common thread with people whom others considered good-looking or beautiful. In my opinion, it’s a fake image that handsome people know they cannot live up to. Instead of exterior beauty being an asset, it often becomes a psychological burden. During the years when I was with Toby, I delved in some fashion modeling work in New Zealand. I ventured into this business because it was my subconscious way of reminding me of the days we posed for Mario and Aziz. It was also my twisted way of hoping to meet another person like me, with the hope of building a loving long-term relationship. It was also a desperate attempt to break loose from Toby’s psychosomatic grip on my person. Ian was his name and he was a very attractive 24 year old architecture student. He modeled to earn some extra spending money. We became fast friends, but he had this foreboding nature which often came on unexpectedly. A sentence or a word could trigger his depression, sending the otherwise cheerful man into bouts of non-verbal communication. It was like a brightly lit light bulb suddenly being switched off in mid-sentence. We did have an affair while I was trying to patch things up with Toby. As delightful as our sexual liaisons were there was a hidden missing element, YOU! Much like my liaisons with Oscar, without your presence, our sexual communications took on a different dynamic which only you as the missing link could resolve. There were times during or after sex when Ian would abuse himself with negative thoughts and self-denigration. I tried to console him, yet I was deeply sorrowed about my own unresolved issues with Toby. It was like the blind leading the blind. I was gravely saddened when Ian took his own life. Heavily drugged on prescriptive anti-depressant and a stomach full of extensive alcohol consumption, he fell off his ten story apartment building. He died instantly. This was the straw that threw me into a nervous breakdown. Thank God I climbed out of my despondencies with the help of Ari and Aria. My dearest Young, I have a confession to make; you are the only person I have truly loved and will continue to love. All these years I’ve tried to forget you but I cannot. That said I am not trying to pry you away from Walter and have you return to me. We are just getting to know each other yet I feel your spirit has never left. Please make sure that Walter understands that I’m not jeopardizing your wonderful relationship. I am happy for the both of you. You had asked jokingly if I was interested in a triplet relationship. Maybe when the time and opportunity arises it may happen, but now I’m enjoying my own company after Albert’s passing. In a way it is nice to have my freedom after 8 years of building a life with Albert. I love you my darling boy and always will. As always, I await your cheerful emails. Andy. Xoxoxo

In the earlier Passion it was John's special eyewitness account that gave the work its authenticity and edge, while the irregular placement of arias and chorales reinforced this suspense. With Matthew's version comes a larger cast and the added pathos of Jesus presented as 'a man of sorrows'. It would be hard to better it as an essentially human drama - one involving immense struggle and challenge, betrayal and forgiveness, love and sacrifice, compassion and pity - the raw material with which most people can instantly identify.

but she could let her know that she understood, that she was sorry, that she knew what it felt like to worry about your Mom. One thing Liz could do uniquely and with pride was play her saxophone. Liz had been thinking about a musical accompaniment for Life in a Jar and had come upon the perfect song – Eugene Bozza’s Aria, a saxophone solo in a minor key that gave dignity to suffering. After all was said and done, after all the raging, all the sorrow, all the counseling, the one thing Liz wanted for Megan, for herself – maybe what everyone wanted and needed – was dignity in their suffering. To

Hatred. Focus on that. Destroy the cause of the pain, and perhaps he could sleep again, could live once more. Until then, he would learn . . . and obey. And really, he didn’t mind not having to think. Sometimes it hurt too much.

She glared at him, and in her eyes he could see her storm, more furious and sorrowful and terrified than he had ever seen her before. It took all of his will to turn away and walk toward the seething city.

My fingers trace the IV line to his inner arm where the paramedics had placed a cannula. I freeze. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I just… can’t. It’s him. I don’t have to look at his face, or his chart to know what’s screaming in my heart and churning my stomach. That one scar on his hand in the shape of a “D” tells me who he is. I barely recognise the call of my name, the concern from the lips of my team as I stand there, willing my eyes not to look up and see the face of the one person I ruined. But they betray me, and I see the harder features of a boy I once loved. My best friend, my protector, my secret, is lying on the bed, half naked with a piece of steel protruding his shoulder, maybe penetrated right through his subscapular. There have been so many changes over his body since I was fifteen. A lifetime of sorrow, lies, and pain; all because of me. Nate lost everything because I’m a coward, a dirty-fucking-damaged-coward.