Sad Sj Quotes

I am floating, I thought, completely without anchor, at the mercy of the wind.

I've missed you too. Have you been well?" "No," I said. She smiled sadly. "Nor have I." But that was going to change now. For both of us.

Everything seems different now. The room I am in looks no more familiar to me than it did this morning when I woke up and stumbled into it, trying to find the kitchen, desperate for a drink of water, desperate to piece together what happened last night. And yet it no longer seems shot through with pain, and sadness. It no longer seems emblematic of a life I cannot consider living. The ticking of the clock at my shoulder is no longer just marking time. It speaks to me. Relax, it says. Relax, and take what comes.

He was almost at his door when Vik’s earsplitting shriek resounded down the corridor. Tom was glad for the excuse to sprint back toward him. “Vik?” He reached Vik’s doorway as Vik was backing out of it. “Tom,” he breathed, “it’s an abomination.” Confused, Tom stepped past him into the bunk. Then he gawked, too. Instead of a standard trainee bunk of two small beds with drawers underneath them and totally bare walls, Vik’s bunk was virtually covered with images of their friend Wyatt Enslow. There were posters all over the wall with Wyatt’s solemn, oval face on them. She wore her customary scowl, her dark eyes tracking their every move through the bunk. There was a giant marble statue of a sad-looking Vik with a boot on top of its head. The Vik statue clutched two very, very tiny hands together in a gesture of supplication, its eyes trained upward on the unseen stomper, an inscription at its base, WHY, OH WHY, DID I CROSS WYATT ENSLOW? Tom began to laugh. “She didn’t do it to the bunk,” Vik insisted. “She must’ve done something to our processors.” That much was obvious. If Wyatt was good at anything, it was pulling off tricks with the neural processors, which could pretty much be manipulated to show them anything. This was some sort of illusion she was making them see, and Tom heartily approved. He stepped closer to the walls to admire some of the photos pinned there, freeze-frames of some of Vik’s more embarrassing moments at the Spire: that time Vik got a computer virus that convinced him he was a sheep, and he’d crawled around on his hands and knees chewing on plants in the arboretum. Another was Vik gaping in dismay as Wyatt won the war games. “My hands do not look like that.” Vik jabbed a finger at the statue and its abnormally tiny hands. Wyatt had relentlessly mocked Vik for having small, delicate hands ever since Tom had informed her it was the proper way to counter one of Vik’s nicknames for her, “Man Hands.” Vik had mostly abandoned that nickname for “Evil Wench,” and Tom suspected it was due to the delicate-hands gibe. Just then, Vik’s new roommate bustled into the bunk. He was a tall, slim guy with curly black hair and a pointy look to his face. Tom had seen him around, and he called up his profile from memory: NAME: Giuseppe Nichols RANK: USIF, Grade IV Middle, Alexander Division ORIGIN: New York, NY ACHIEVEMENTS: Runner-up, Van Cliburn International Piano Competition IP: 2053:db7:lj71::291:ll3:6e8 SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-4 Giuseppe must’ve been able to see the bunk template, too, because he stuttered to a stop, staring up at the statue. “Did you really program a giant statue of yourself into your bunk template? That’s so narcissistic.” Tom smothered his laughter. “Wow. He already has your number, man.” Vik shot him a look of death as Tom backed out of the bunk.

There are many moments in life that will make you mad, sad, or both,” Andel said. “Sometimes the best cure for those occasions is laughter. Having a sense of humor about things can often protect your sanity.

Such things are never asked for,” he said, a note of sadness to his voice as he seemed to be lost in his thoughts. He shook his head and looked over at her solemnly. “When they come, one must either rise to the occasion or be no better than that which would destroy our worlds. Refusing to act when you have the power to do so is just as evil.

pictured in the will curve, decision produces peace and rest. Indecision, on the contrary, is a source of fatigue. For the brain then overloads itself with energies which find no outlet.

When you decide upon a supernatural act, such as practice of virtue, you need God’s supernatural help. Remember that this will never be denied you if you ask for it with trust and humility.

Imperfect attention. Our attention is poor when we follow out one idea with another idea or image constantly interrupting it. This we call a distraction.

He opens the passenger door. “You looked sad standing there. Come home with me and I promise to make you feel better.” “Okay.” I whisper. Later, I can blame the wine for my easy acceptance. Vincent’s eyes flash with victory. “Good girl. Now get your ass in the car.

I slide my hand into my pocket, ready to pull my phone out so I can search to see if such a thing is possible, but I stop myself. Because if Cassandra woke up tomorrow to a bowl of rotten produce, she would feel sad. She’d probably frown. Potentially pout. And I can’t be the cause of that.

I’m okay,” she says it again. “I’m not,” I admit and she lets out a sad little laugh. “See?” Her fingers reach up into my hair, giving a tiny tug. “You’re too nice.” I grunt, “Only for you.” My hand starts to rub up and down her back again.

when you’re a kid you imagine fun things, happy things, all the good things that can happen. When you grow up, you tend to see more of the bad stuff. You take what you’ve experienced and imagination seems to be limited by it, you can only imagine more bad stuff.” Ben shook his head sadly. “You can still imagine good stuff, if you dare. It’s just that it’s harder to do it when you’re aware of the risks. When life has hurt you, you try to prepare yourself for more hurt. You think you can protect yourself somehow, but you can’t. Hard as it is, it’s better to put yourself out there and look for the good. Otherwise you risk missing out.

Action Plan: Sit in a quiet place where you won’t be interrupted for ten minutes. If you have family in the house, you might tell them not to bother you during these few minutes. Close your eyes and take five slow, deep diaphragmatic breaths (as described in the previous breathing exercise). Breathing helps ground you in the present and calm you enough to become the “silent watcher” of your thoughts. Imagine yourself sitting in a chair inside of your brain, as the observer of your thoughts. This visualization helps you separate yourself from the thoughts you are observing. Wait for a thought to enter your mind and simply notice it. You might even say to yourself, “There’s a thought entering my brain.” If the thought triggers an emotion, like anxiety or sadness, notice the emotion without judging it. You might say to yourself, “That thought triggered the feeling of sadness.” Don’t linger on the emotion or judge yourself for having it. Just move on to observing the next thought. Notice the patterns and frequency of your thoughts and how they arise spontaneously, even as you sit and observe. See them as powerless objects that float in and out of your mind, like blowing leaves or clouds. As you come to the end of this ten-minute time, remind yourself that your thoughts are not you and they have no power over you. By observing them as “blowing leaves,” you will reduce the emotional triggers they produce, giving you more peace of mind and contentment.

A shudder runs down my spine, and I wonder if there’s something I can do to them that would make them rot overnight so she’s not able to make anything else with them. I slide my hand into my pocket, ready to pull my phone out so I can search to see if such a thing is possible, but I stop myself. Because if Cassandra woke up tomorrow to a bowl of rotten produce, she would feel sad. She’d probably frown. Potentially pout. And I can’t be the cause of that.