Tearjerker Quotes

...Despite the mayhem that followed, Bruno found that he was still holding Shmuel's hand in his own and nothing in the world would have persuaded him to let go.

I'll follow you to the next life if I have to," he whispered harshly in her ear. "You'll never be free of me. I'll chase you through heaven and hell and beyond." He continued to whisper without stopping while his hands gripped her body close to his. "You stay with me, Holly," he muttered savagely. "Don't do this to me. You stay, damn you.

The necklace was a good excuse," he murmured. "For what?" "I thought maybe I could go to Charleston and show up at your front door to give this back and maybe… you might let me in. Or something. I was worried that another male would court you, so I've been trying to go as fast as I could. I mean, I figured maybe if I could read, and if I took a little better care of myself, and if I tried to stop being such a mean-ass motherfucker…" He shook his head. "But don't misunderstand. It's not like I expected you to be happy to see me. I was just… you know, hoping… coffee. Tea. Chance to talk. Or some shit. Friends, maybe. Except if you had a male, he wouldn't allow that. So, yeah, that's why I've been hurrying." His yellow eyes lifted to hers. He was wincing, as if he were afraid of what might be showing on her face. "Friends?" she said. "Yeah… I mean, I wouldn't disgrace you by asking for more than that. I know that you regret… Anyway, I just couldn't let you go without… Yeah, so… friends.

If someday you should ever think of me and miss me, know in your heart that I'd want you to find me once again. No matter how distant in time or space... FIND ME.

Jason knew his life would never be the same again. British intelligence now had an ace up their sleeve, and Jason had to overcome his fears and deal with the secret world he was now a part of. He would have to grow a tough shell around himself. Despite his many friends, his grandparents and love of his father, he was painfully aware he was very much alone in this world. When it came down to it, there was only one person he could really rely on in the world, and he was called Jason Steed.

Im here and he’s not. That I’m alive and he’s…

We are the thirteen. From now until darkness claims us.

All the birds who were never born, all the songs that were never sung and so can only exist in the imagination. And this one is Teddy's.

Then you came and I started to feel again. I started to think there was a reason I survived, that you were my reason. But nothing's so simple, is it? I didn't protect you. Here you are hurting so bad, and I can't even help. I'm just here and I need you. That's all it comes to. I need you to be brave when I haven't been. I know how hard it is. Look at me. Look at what's happened to me. Jesus, I feel like I'll be crying for the next century." He bent his head, pressed his tear-wet cheek to her dry cold skin. "But I'm here. I'm not hiding anymore. Princess, I'm asking you. Come back to me. You're my life.

I'm not really putting this very well. My point is this: This book contains precisely zero Important Life Lessons, or Little-Known Facts About Love, or sappy tear-jerking Moments When We Knew We Had Left Our Childhood Behind for Good, or whatever. And, unlike most books in which a girl gets cancer, there are definitely no sugary paradoxical single-sentence-paragraphs that you're supposed to think are deep because they're in italics. Do you know what I'm talking about? I'm talking about sentences like this: The cancer had taken her eyeballs, yet she saw the world with more clarity than ever before. Barf. Forget it. For me personally, things are in no way more meaningful because I got to know Rachel before she died. If anything, things are less meaningful. All right?

I can let go of the twenty-three-year-old idiot who didn't realize just how much he could love you. I can. He's gone. I can let go of the man who was so tied up in his own guilt that he didn't really see you for years. But I will never let go of the eighty-year-old man who will hold your hand until the day he dies. I will fight for that old man. I will never let go of him.

Alana, You once told me there'd come a day when I would regret making you marry me. I do regret it now, Alana, with all my heart. For tonight I've seen the joy on a willing bride's face, and I regret that I was never able to see that on yours. I mourn the sorrow I now understand that I've brought to you, but if you leave me, I'll mourn my ow sorrow at losing you infinitely more. Let these words assure you that in this world of injustice, God's sword is ruthless upon the wicked. If I lose you, one man, THIS man, got what he deserved. Trevor

Writing does not resurrect. It buries.

Clean," Peter said. "Can I get a water bottle or something to clean his hands?" I scanned the crowd. He drew my attention back to him with a pull of my hand. "No," Peter said. "I'm...clean." I had missed who Peter was until that very moment... I broke. It wasn't a visible fracture. I didn't sob or explode into anguish. I didn't give in to my vomitus urge that came from the burst of self-loathing. But I shattered nonetheless. "Well, you look filthy," I said, hitting redial on his phone and jamming it to my ear.

This life has no meaning to me now. Do not grieve for me, my dear. Up until the moment I lost her, I had a wonderful life. These moments now are the ones that are hard. I’m eager to depart this world and rejoin her in the next. Then, and only then, will I finally be at peace.

Why write tearjerkers just because they get you better reviews? You know what you have to do to win an Oscar these days? Play a character who’s lost an arm, or a leg, or a mother, or a father, or preferably all of the above. Make it miserable and squalid and base, so people will cry their eyes out and call you a genius, but if you inspire people or make them laugh? You’re not even under consideration when awards season rolls around. I’m sick of this cultural hegemony of depression.

The more I learn about life and people, the more I realise that everyone has a story and everyone’s story is the biggest in their own mind.” - Laylla Jonson

If i had not met my cousin, I would never have learned that light can be found even in the darkest of hells. That kindness can thrive even amongst cruelty.

No matter where I went, where I’ve gone, what I’ve seen and what I’ve done…you have never not been wit’ me. You’ve always been my home.

Of course she had read this work many times before, but there were certain parts to which she passionately returned: so cool, so elegant, so beautiful, so terrible. As she read tears began to stream down her face.

You can tell a lot about a country by its prisons. In hippy-dippy Socialist Sweden, rapists and murders (all three of them) while away their days making arts and crafts in what are essentially taxpayer-funded mental health clinics. The Swedes’ theory seems to be that a) anyone who commits such a crime must be crazy and b) with enough art therapy, the individual in question will soon become just another law-abiding, nude-sunbathing pot-smoker. In America, we think people in prison are either the victims of some terrible government conspiracy, the victims of “society”—whatever that means—or heinous evildoers. And if they are heinous enough, we fry them with electricity, unless of course they find Jesus first. The Swedes, in a nutshell, are tolerant and forgiving, verging on the naïve; Americans are religious and vengeful, suspicious of their government, and suckers for tear-jerking tales of redemption.

On my arrival at Tokyo, I rushed into her house swinging my valise, before going to a hotel, with "Hello, Kiyo, I'm back!" "How good of you to return so soon!" she cried and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. I was overjoyed, and declared that I would not go to the country any more but would start housekeeping with Kiyo in Tokyo. Some time afterward, some one helped me to a job as assistant engineer at the tram car office. The salary was 25 yen a month, and the house rent six. Although the house had not a magnificent front entrance, Kiyo seemed quite satisfied, but, I am sorry to say, she was a victim of pneumonia and died in February this year. On the day preceding her death, she asked me to bedside, and said, "Please, Master Darling, if Kiyo is dead, bury me in the temple yard of Master Darling. I will be glad to wait in the grave for my Master Darling." So Kiyo's grave is in the Yogen temple at Kobinata.

I’ve something to show you in here,” he murmurs and opens the door. The harsh light of the fluorescents illuminates the impressive motor launch in the dock, bobbing gently on the dark water. There’s a row boat beside it. “Come.” Christian takes my hand and leads me up the wooden stairs. Opening the door at the top, he steps aside to let me in. My mouth drops to the floor. The attic is unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers... there are flowers everywhere. Someone has created a magical bower of beautiful wild meadow flowers mixed with glowing fairy lights and miniature lanterns that glow soft and pale round the room. My face whips round to meet his, and he’s gazing at me, his expression unreadable. He shrugs. “You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs. I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing. “You have my heart.” And he waves toward the room. “And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.” I can’t think of what else to say. My heart is in my mouth as tears prick my eyes.

Just like a butterfly, I had sprung from my cocoon for the first time. For my risk, I was rewarded with Jacob Bennett." - Laylla Jonson (Beneath the Blossom Tree)

WAR CHILD is the true story of Magdalena (Leni) Janic whose name appears on The Welcome Wall at Sydney's Darling Harbour. The story spans 100 years starting in pre WWII Nazi Germany and ends in the suburbs of Adelaide. It's a window into what life was like for a young illegitimate German girl growing up in poverty, coping with ostracism, bullying, abuse and dispossession as society was falling down around her and she becomes a refugee. But it's also a story of a woman's unconditional love for her family, the sacrifices she made and secrets she kept to protect them. Her ultimate secret was only revealed in a bizarre twist after her death and much to her daughter's (and author) surprise involved her. A memorable tear-jerker! A sad cruel story told with so much love.

What if a person has a genre. If a personality can be structured around a genre’s tensions, themes, and tropes. All the streaming genres: Romantic Drama, Tearjerker, Crime Thriller, Dark Comedy, Supernatural Horror. And if that person reinforces their own genre by consuming only fictions that confirm it. And if that person seeks those fictions before realizing the genre that they are.

He had know of the notion of love but had always been suspicious of it. He'd decided that it was a phenomenon that only existed in novels. A fiction created by a single beautiful word. He'd thought that love was just a dream, or something from a tear-jerking drama. But he was wrong. This was real. And it was more powerful than he had imagined.

If i had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair

There’s a certain tear-jerking way that some people can go slowly wide-eyed before any entertainment. I watch them at movies and in shows sometimes, and if the action is good, their shoulders will slope and they turn right into open-mouthed children. Some of them are so old you wouldn’t think anything could get through to them, but the sight of one of them seen from a few feet behind, catching the glow from stage or screen lights, hits me as a miracle every time.

Let’s dispel this bloody stupid myth of love at first sight, all this tear-jerking romance you see in films, all this overwhelming passion. They’re feelings I just can’t conceive of, which are capable of reducing an individual who was previously perfectly self-sufficient into a human wreck suffering from all the most worrying psychiatric disorders, from obsessive-compulsive disorder to abandonment anxiety.

Jenny Chen Is An Ordinary Girl. Or Else That’s What Everyone Thinks. Yes, Jenny Is A Drug Dealer And Slave Trader. She Likes To Act Innocent, Always Smiling, Even When Xin Yu Gong Whacks Her Like There’s No Tomorrow. That Is All A Ruse To Hide Her Secretly Evil Disposition. She Is Powerful, Holding All The Chains To Expose Government Corruption. Heck, She Even Ordered Every Letter To Be Written As A Capital For Every New Word. Her Word Is Law. She Is Supreme, Compared To Us Peasants. She Is Jenny Whenny Chen, Drug Dealer Extraordinaire And Slave Trader of The Zong Ship.

This book contains precisely zero important Life Lessons, or Little-Known Facts About Love, or sappy tear-jerking Moments When We Knew We Had Left Our Childhood Behind for Good.

No." I dropped to my knees beside him. "I won't leave you." ... Aaron's voice was soft. "Why?" ... "Because, if this is the end ... at least we won't be alone. I won't leave you here alone to die. No way." Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I squeezed his hand. He squeezed mine back. "I'm sorry ... for everything. I really screwed your life up." I smiled, wiping a few tears. "No. You didn't. I'd do it all again. All of the good. The bad. To meet you.

If He's so fired up for my attention, He has it. What does He want?" Jack stared back at her, gaze steady and calm. "He wants you.

Death sends a radiogram every day: When I want / you I'll drop it - and then one day he comes with a / master-key and lets himself in and says: We'll go now. (Carl Sandberg, 'Death Snips Proud Men')

After birth, the navel remains / so you can never forget you weren't a first person, / but one humble from the past, soon / to disappear into the future. (Linda Hogan, 'Anatomy')

Rousseau’s legacy is vast. It includes Hallmark cards, Hollywood tearjerkers, heart-shaped emojis, and tell-all memoirs. If you’ve ever said, “I need a good cry,” you can thank Rousseau. If you’ve ever said, “Use your imagination,” you’re being Rousseauvian. If, in the heat of an argument, you’ve actually uttered the words “I don’t care if it makes no sense, it’s how I feel,” Rousseau is your man. If you’ve ever answered heartbreak with a long and angry walk, Rousseau. If your spouse has ever dragged you on a ten-mile trek on a damp, cold day, because “it will be good for you,” you can thank, or curse, Rousseau. Because of him, we think and feel differently, and we think about our feelings differently.

It is okay even if the pain never really disappears but doubles at the worst. It is okay when you remember unexpected moments- just like when remembering the good times that you spent together at a certain place. It is okay cringing when your favorite song sneaks up on you on your own playlist or worse—when you are at a public place and either Taylor Swift or Adele suddenly starts crooning incredibly tear-jerking lines over the loudspeakers. I hope you did not forget your value yet, because I know you are always finding yourself trying to prove your worth as a human being. I hope you become the fairy tale princess who will never lose faith in her prince. One day, things will not be as rough as this anymore and it will get smoother and better in time.

There are no similarly important systems of organization for the other aspects of novels that matter to readers—happy endings, tearjerkers, books set in Tokyo, or novels that feature firefighters or princesses or nuns.

We were doing a joke having to do with Toy Story, the last one, Toy Story 3. We were saying it was a tearjerker, and Jon’s like, “What made it a tearjerker?” So I was telling him the premise of the story: Andy goes off to college and leaves all of his toys behind. Jon says, “I don’t get it, what’s so sad?” And I was like, “Oh my God, you’re Andy and we’re your toys. Holy shit, you insensitive prick!

Why do you read the books you read?" I think for a moment. Entertainment, sure, but what makes a book entertaining? I like a good tearjerker as much as I love a comedy. And the way I barricade the door when I'm reading something scary is kind of why I'm currently grounded, I think. "Because they make me feel more than I would if I were just living. I feel things when I read.

You really are amazing, Wren." "That's like... common sense, Wren.