Cry Over Spilled Milk Quotes

I've had ups in my life, and I've had downs, but I've learned not to cry over spilled milk. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle

Choose Your Tears
If we cry over spilled milk,
what tears will be left over for spilled blood? ~ Beryl Dov

We can't behave like crocodiles and cry over spilled milk and broken eggs. ~ Giovanni Trapattoni

Sometimes I hate this language with its false words like sunset. The sun does not set. It doesn't rise either. It just stays there in one place, yet we get all romantic, huddling on beaches to watch its so-called departure, when it is we who turn away from it, which is a good thing-if the sun could turn, it would never come back, it'd just keep going, look for some better planet to nourish.

Moonlight is another lie. It's a luminescent echo. The moon is a politician whose speeches are written by the sun. I long for a world where witnesses in court must place their hands on a dictionary when they swear. A world where an archer must ask an arrow's permission before loading it into a crossbow. A world with inverted flashlights that shoot out beams of darkness, so you can go to the beach and sabotage sunbathers, rob them of their shine.

A world where people eat animals they wish to emulate. But who the hell am I? I'm just the spark from two people who rubbed their genitals together like sticks in a forest one October night because they were cold. I'm just burning the firecracker at both ends. Every morning I get up and swallow my weirdness pills.

I know the glass is half full, but it's a shot glass, and there are four of us, and we're all very thirsty. I know it's easy not to cry over spilled milk when you've got another carton in the fridge. ~ Jeffrey McDaniel

People like to cry over spilled milk, but I cry every time I spill my coffee. ~ Anthony Liccione

I saw the first light, fore-running the sun, gather in a cup of the eastern cloud, gather and grow and brim, till at last it spilled like milk over the golden lip, to smear the dark face of heaven from end to end. From east to north, and back to south again, the clouds slackened, the stars, trembling on the verge of extinction, guttered in the dawn wind, and the gates of day were ready to open at the trumpet ... ~ Mary Stewart

You think I don't know, that I don't understand what that cost you. But you're wrong." She couldn't keep her voice steady, gave up trying. "You're wrong, Roarke. I do know. There's no one else in the world who would want, who would need to kill for me. No one else in the world who would step back from it because I asked it. Because I needed it."
She turned, and the first tear spilled over. "No one but you."
"Don't. You'll do me in if you cry."
"I never in my life expected anyone would love me, all of me. How would I deserve that? What would I do with it? But you do. Everything we've managed to have together, to be to each other, this is more. I'll never be able to find the words to tell you what you just gave me."
"You undo me, Eve. Who else would make me feel like a hero for doing nothing."
"You did everything. Everything. Are everything. ~ J.D. Robb

They Don't Love You Like I Love You"

My mother said this to me
long before Beyoncé lifted the lyrics
from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs,

and what my mother meant by
Don't stray was that she knew
all about it - the way it feels to need

someone to love you, someone
not your kind, someone white,
some one some many who live

because so many of mine
have not, and further, live on top of
those of ours who don't.

I'll say, say, say,
I'll say, say, say,
What is the United States if not a clot

of clouds? If not spilled milk? Or blood?
If not the place we once were
in the millions? America is Maps -

Maps are ghosts: white and
layered with people and places I see through.
My mother has always known best,

knew that I'd been begging for them,
to lay my face against their white
laps, to be held in something more

than the loud light of their projectors
of themselves they flicker - sepia
or blue - all over my body.

All this time,
I thought my mother said, Wait,
as in, Give them a little more time

to know your worth,
when really, she said, Weight,
meaning heft, preparing me

for the yoke of myself,
the beast of my country's burdens,
which is less worse than

my country's plow. Yes,
when my mother said,
They don't love you like I love y ~ Natalie Diaz

Well, no point in crying over spilled milk. Spilled wine, yes. ~ Kristan Higgins

When you've had one call after another and your little one is tugging on your shirt, remember what really matters. When the milk is splattered all over the floor and those little eyes are looking at you for your reaction, remember what really matters. It takes 5 minutes to clean up spilled milk; it takes much longer to clean up a broken spirit. ~ Rebecca Eanes

But whenever tragedy strikes, one is left either to die or with a plethora of ifs and buts to ponder over. ~ Kudrat Dutta Chaudhary

Hawk soared over our carriage, letting out a high, piercing cry of defiance, and I wanted to jump out of the window and fly with it ~ Stephanie Burgis

It was a scream of loss so immense there was no speech for it. It was the wordless cry of having the sky over your head, the air in your lungs, ripped away from you forever. ~ Cassandra Clare

He's not dead," I spoke up. "The last we heard, he still lived."

"He did?" Simus asked, then let his eyes slide over to Keir. "Losing your touch?"

A cry of outrage filled the tent. I grabbed at the blanket, as Keir stood, sword in hand. Simus had two daggers that appeared from nowhere. I looked at the privy entrance, to see Marcus standing there, waving my underthings in his fist and shaking them in the air. "Where did the likes of these come from?"

I jumped up and grabbed for them, but that scarred little man dodged me. "Those are mine!" I made another attempt, darting around the bed. Simus roared out his laughter and Keir got out of the way.

Marcus danced away again. "The Warprize accepts nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!" His face was bright red, the scarring a dull white against it.

"Give me those!" I went after him again and this time managed to wrestle the cloth from his hand. Flushed and breathless, I shoved them behind my back and faced down Marcus, toe to toe. "You have no business - "

"Nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!" Marcus roared out, spittle flying from his mouth.

"You bragnect! I bought them with his coin!"

Marcus blinked. Apparently it was an effective curse in their language, since it seemed to leave him speechless. His recovery was quick. "Could have asked Hisself or I."

I rolled my eyes, just imagining that conversation. ~ Elizabeth Vaughan

He eased her back onto the fur, aching at the way she sighed as her back rubbed against the soft mink, as she learned the sheer decadence of skin against fur. He leaned over her, claiming her mouth until her hands were tangled in his hair, and she was pressing up against him. Only then did he lift his lips from hers and whisper, "I'm going to make love to you on this fur. You're going to feel it against every inch of you. And the pleasure I will give you will be more than you've ever imagined. You will cry my name as it comes. ~ Sarah MacLean

Nine-year-old Laila rose from bed, as she did most mornings, hungry for the sight of her friend Tariq. This morning, however, she knew there would be no Tariq sighting.
- How long will you be gone? - She'd asked when Tariq had told her that his parents were
taking him south, to the city of Ghazni, to visit his paternal uncle.
- Thirteen days
- Thirteen days?
- It's not so long. You're making a face, Laila.
- I am not.
- You're not going to cry, are you?
- I am not going to cry! Not over you. Not in a thousand years.
She'd kicked at his shin, not his artificial but his real one, and he'd playfully whacked
the back of her head.
Thirteen days. Almost two weeks. And, just five days in, Laila had learned a fundamental truth about time: Like the accordion on which Tariq's father sometimes played old Pashto songs, time stretched and contracted depending on Tariq's absence or presence. ~ Khaled Hosseini

I've done my "mind over matter" movies, and I think probably that people aren't really interested in seeing me do that anymore. I think I'm kind of past my prime to do dramatic films. I think it'd become kind of like almost a pathetic cry out to be recognized as a serious drama actor. ~ Sylvester Stallone

The soft, fluttering cry of a barn owl rose over the churchyard. Silent men flowed out of the dark. ~ Parke Godwin

But you should go, if that's what you need to do to get over it. You should go and cry your heart out. ~ Chica Umino

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
to or needs to...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her
dreams wants to see her in an hour...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a youth she's content to leave behind....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who
lets her cry...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
else in her family...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a feeling of control over her destiny...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to fall in love without losing herself..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of ~ Pamela Redmond Satran

When I see a barrier, I cry and I curse, and then I get a ladder and climb over it. ~ John H. Johnson

Much blood has been spilled over words, and a great deal of it over the word 'God.' (125) ~ Jean-Yves Leloup

Swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside. There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor. At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. ~ Dale Carnegie

I wear a necklace of hope with pearly beads. When I met you, it broke, and the beads spilled all over the floor, into the gutters. ~ Karen Quan

For a minute he stands there, looking at me, and I can tell that he knows why I'm crying, and he understands, and it's going to be all right. He opens his arms to me.
"Come here," he says quietly.
I can't move to him fast enough. I practically fall into him. He catches me and pulls me in tightly to his chest, and I let myself go again, let sobs run through me. He stands there with me and murmurs into my hair and kisses the top of my head and lets me cry over losing another boy, a boy I loved better. ~ Lauren Oliver

But nothing was said about chicken farming anymore. Once, long after it was too late for farming, he might catch her crying and pet her a bit. 'What's the matter, little baby? You got a fever? You want to take the night off?' She might murmur something about candling eggs, but he wouldn't be able to understand what she meant. And after a while she cried on without knowing what she meant either, as a girl cries over a bad dream long after the dream is forgotten.
In time the tears dried. She could no longer cry over anything. All the tears had been shed, all the laughs had been had; all the long spent. Leaving nothing to do but to sit stupefied, night after night, under lights made soft beside music with a beat, to rise automatically when someone wearing pants pointed a finger and said 'that one there. ~ Nelson Algren

I still don't think it's pathetic to cry over someone. It just means you care about them deeply and you're sad. ~ Jenny Han

It is useless to cry over a thing which is not belong to you ... ~ Jawad Khalid

I never read a book in my life," she said again. She looked at the volume where it lay by the boulder, at Scott, at the book again. She seemed to be having a great deal of trouble getting used to the idea of a man reading a book. "What do you read books for?"
Now he laughed, and she flared up at him, "You laughing at me?"
"Lord, no, ma'am. It's just that nobody ever asked me that before."
He looked at the still water for a moment, thinking. "Tell you what, suppose you had a friend, he knew a whole lot more than you do. He could tell you things about what people are like all over the world, the way they live, everything. And what folks were like a hundred years ago or even a thousand. He could tell you things that make your hair curl, lose you sleep, or things that make you laugh." He looked up at her swiftly, and away. "Or cry."
He kicked a pebble into the water and watched the sunlight break and break, and heal. "More than that. Suppose you had a friend there waiting for you anytime you wanted him, anyplace. He'd give you all he's got or any part of it, whenever you wanted it. And even more, you could shut him up if you didn't feel like listening. Or if he said something you like, you could get him to say it over a hundred times, and he'd never mind."
He pointed at the book. "And all that you can put in your pocket. ~ Theodore Sturgeon

Isn't she doing this too? Connecting and disconnecting. Facing grief then turning from it. One minute she is caught up in minutiae. Will her feet get sore standing in heels at the church? Have they made enough food? Will the kitten get scared by dozens of strangers in the house? Should she shut him in a room upstairs? The next moment she is weeping uncontrollably, taken over by pain so profound she can barely move. Then there was the salad bowl incident; her own fury scared her. But maybe these are different ways of dealing with events for all of them. Molly and Luke are infantile echos of her, their emotions paired down, their reactions simpler but similar. For if they have difficulty taking in what has happened, then so too does she. Why is she dressing up, for instance? Why can't she wear clothes to reflect the fact that she is at her lowest end? A tracksuit, a jumper full of holes, dirty jeans? Why can't she leave her hair a mess, her face unmade up? The crazed and grieving Karen doesn't care about her appearance. Yet she must go through with this charade, polish herself and her children to perfection. She, in particular, must hold it together. Oh, she can cry, yes, that's allowed. People expect that. They will sympathize. But what about screaming, howling, and hurling plates like she did yesterday? She imagines the shocked faces as she shouts and swears and smashes everything. But she is so angry, surely others must feel the same. Maybe a plate throwing ceremony would be ~ Sarah Rayner

Dear friends,
You know that no matter what you are told in life you are always worth it, no matter how hard you fall or how softly you land. No person is really worth your tears if they never mattered in the first place, if they say things that make you cry then they were never really real. So why cry over what was never real? Love yourself in a healthy way and no one can ever ruin your day, just be yourself and never put what you love away on a self. Free yourself, be yourself, always be free. ~ Myself

She was swamped by a feeling of utter hopelessness as she waited for him to destroy her with a few caustic words. But he continued to watch her silently, his face unreadable. It seemed almost as if he were waiting for some cue from her. The dilemma lasted for several seconds, until Sara solved it by bursting into tears. She jerked her hands up to her face, blotting her streaming eyes. "I'm so sorry," she gasped.
Suddenly he was next to her, touching her shoulders and arms lightly and then jerking his hands back as if burned. "No, don't. Don't. You're all right now." Gingerly he reached out to pat her back. "Don'y cry. Everything's fine. Bloody hell. Don't do that."
As she continued to weep, Derek hovered over her in baffled dismay. He excelled at seducing women, charming and deceiving them, breaking down their defenses... everything but comforting them. No one had ever required it of him. "There, now," he muttered, as he had heard Lily Raiford say a thousand times to her crying children. "There, now."
Suddenly she was leaning on him, her small head testing at the center of his chest. The long skeins of her hair draped everywhere, entangling him in a fine russet web. Alarmed, he lifted his hands to ease her away. Instead his arms slid around her until she was pressed against him length to length. "Miss Fielding," he said with great effort. "Sara..." She nestled deeper against him, muffling her gulping sobs in his shirtfront.
Derek swore and furtively presse ~ Lisa Kleypas

traverse, v.

You started to cry, and I quickly said, "No -- I mean this part is over. We have to get to the next part."
And you said, "I'm not sure we can."
Without even having to think about it, I replied, "Of course we can."
"How can you be so sure?" you asked.
And I said, "I'm sure. Isn't that enough? ~ David Levithan

Fog spilled from the heights of San Francisco like the liquid it almost was. On better days it spread across the bay and took over Oakland street by street, a thing you saw coming, a change you watched happening to you, a season on the move. Where it encountered redwoods, the most local of rains fell. Where it found open space, its weightless pale passage seemed both endless and like the end of all things. It was a temporary sadness, the more beautiful for being sad, the more precious for being temporary. It was the slow song in minor that the rock-and-roll sun then chased away. ~ Jonathan Franzen

Everybody in this room is bored.
The poems drag, the voice and gestures irk.
He can't be interrupted or ignored.
Poor fools, we came here of our own accord
And some of us have paid to hear this jerk.
Everybody in the room is bored.
The silent cry goes up, 'How long, O Lord?'
But nobody will scream or go berserk.
He won't be interrupted or ignored.
Or hit by eggs, or savaged by a horde
Of desperate people maddened by his work.
Everybody in the room is bored,
Except the poet. We are his reward,
Pretending to indulge in his every quirk.
He won't be interrupted or ignored.
At last it's over. How we all applaud!
The poet thanks us with a modest smirk.
Everybody in the room was bored.
He wasn't interrupted or ignored. ~ Wendy Cope

Sleep!
May be you will wake up tomorrow and find that things never changed, the apocalypse never happened, and everything's fine, normal, at home.
Or may be you will wake up tomorrow and find that things have changed, for the better, the apocalypse is over and there's light, hope and a new home.
Sleep, you crazy soul, just sleep. ~ Sanhita Baruah

I confess, without shame, that I am sick and tired of fighting - its glory is all moonshine; even success the most brilliant is over dead and mangled bodies, with the anguish and lamentations of distant families, appealing to me for sons, husbands, and fathers ... it is only those who have never heard a shot, never heard the shriek and groans of the wounded and lacerated ... that cry aloud for more blood, more vengeance, more desolation. ~ William Tecumseh Sherman

Boy and Egg
Every few minutes, he wants
to march the trail of flattened rye grass
back to the house of muttering
hens. He too could make
a bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so fresh
it felt hot in his hand and he pressed it
to his ear while the other children
laughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,
so little yet, too forgetful in games,
ready to cry if the ball brushed him,
riveted to the secret of birds
caught up inside his fist,
not ready to give it over
to the refrigerator
or the rest of the day. ~ Naomi Shihab Nye

Whatever pain meds Dr. Steve was taking for his shoulder, they must have been the strong ones. I mean the really strong ones, because he had gotten two of his shirt buttons in the wrong holes, spilled coffee all over his sling, and he was grinning like he was six years old and someone had just given him a puppy. ~ Ally Carter

Missing you
I wish I could hold you in my arms again all through the night.
As we lay together I hold you so tight.
To feel your soft skin up against mine as we sleep.
I feel your breath on my skin and it feels so deep.
If this is a dream and you're not real I do not wish to wake.
I'm hoping this is true and I enjoy this time we take.
Two souls together as one with a single beating heart.
I'm thankful for this time and never want to be apart.
I don't want to rise and greet the new day.
I want you here forever and wish you could stay.
As the sun rises and god knows I try.
I awake alone and then begin to cry.
For you have left me and now its ben a year.
I think of you often as I wipe away a tear.
I miss you so much as I take a deep breath.
I will see you again when It's time for my death.
I want you to know that you are my love.
I think of you often when I look at the stars above.
I walk in a daze and talk to your stone.
I want to be with you I'm tired of being alone.
The day is over and night time is here.
I wait for you again and in my arms you appear.
For tonight is different and you won't have to leave.
Were together again and I'm happy, so please dont grieve.
John a Miller ~ John A. Miller

Morning's great that way. You can cry yourself to sleep and wake up wondering what the fuss was over. ~ Terri Farley

Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder? ~ Libba Bray

Tears were misunderstood, she thought, and used inappropriately most often. They were designed as a private response of being. Because sometimes life filled you to the brim and spilled over. Tears were the body's way of cleansing the overflow of emotions, from sorrow to joy and so many others that couldn't be described. ~ Sarah McCoy

Write down the date, because I'm getting that tattoo five years from now, okay?"
The tears that had been only a gloss over Ryan's eyes now spilled down his temples. "You're doing this on purpose." Ryan laughed and gently punched his arm.
"Just a little bit." Liam rolled Ryan to his back and lapped off the salty wetness. His chest was swelling with joy ~ K.A. Merikan

Indeed, our afflictions may be heavy, and we cry out, Oh, we cannot bear them, we cannot bear such an affliction. Though you cannot tell how to bear it with your own strength, yet how can you tell what you will do with the strength of Jesus Christ? You say you cannot bear it? So you think that Christ could not bear it? But if Christ could bear it why may you not come to bear it? You will say, Can I have the strength of Christ? Yes, it is made over to you by faith: the Scripture says that the Lord is our strength, God himself is our strength, and Christ is our strength. There are many Scriptures to that effect, that Christ's strength is yours, made over to you, so that you may be able to bear whatever lies upon you, ~ Jeremiah Burroughs

Jump to how life was when you were a baby and you could only eat baby food. You'd stagger over to the coffee table. You're up on your feet and you have to keep waddling along on those Vienna sausage legs or fall down. Then you get to the coffee table and bounce your big soft baby head on the sharp corner. You're down, and man, oh, man, it hurts. Still it isn't anything tragic until Mom and Dad run over. Oh, you poor, brave thing. Only then do you cry. ~ Chuck Palahniuk

Bye-bye love, as in songs. All alone now. It was so sad. Why did such things have to disintegrate like that? Why did longing and desire, and friendliness and goodwill too, have to shatter into pieces? Why did they have to be so thoroughfully over?
I could make myself cry even more by repeating the key word: love,alone, sad, over. I did it on purpose. ~ Margaret Atwood

I wasn't crying, my eyes were running. My eyes were running because there were pieces of zombies all over my toys. Jesus. ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

Every parent who has ever said a few words over a goldfish in a toilet bowl
or felt the numbness of an unexpected diagnosis in a pediatrician's office will appreciate the heartfelt wisdom in It's Okay to Cry. Norm Wright tenderly and skillfully equips parents to help children cultivate a healthy response to life's many pains and sorrows. ~ Lori Borgman

You will sad your way out of life.
You will cry.
You will scream.

And when the sadness is over.
You will try.
You will dream. ~ Juansen Dizon

But it felt good to cry, to let her shoulders shake, to feel the hot tears on her face, to taste their baby salt, to wipe snot all over the underside of her shirt. ~ Dave Eggers