Weeping Willows Quotes

Labor is rest
from the sorrow that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us,
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us,
Rest from the world-sirens that hire us to ill.
Work
and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow;
Work
thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow;
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow!
Work with a stout heart and resolute will! ~ Frances Sargent Osgood

The weeping willows, on the other hand, are evocative of death. They are a little contrived, a little exaggerated, still green in the middle of all the colors of autumn, and there is a human pathos to them. ~ Joseph Roth

I'm alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows. ~ Steven Herrick

A multitude of harlequin lifeforms bobbed and twirled and played in the depths of the Atlantic. Pink cucumbers with thorny backs. Algae. Starfish. Annelids with simple brains and a hundred toes. Sponges - like yellow, swollen hands - sucked in water and pushed out oxygen. Most amusing were the mysterious buggers who had no likeness on the previous earth; tiny beasts with exotic exoskeletons engraved with deep grid-like patterns, snails with horns, and slithering plants that looked like magenta weeping willows. ~ Jake Vander Ark

THE WEEPING WILLOW

Flowing was the water
showing in its mirror the willow trees.
The weeping willows in the water were washing their hair!
Striking the willows with their sparkling, bare swords
the red horsemen were running to where the sun sets!
Suddenly
like a bird
as if struck
in the wing
a wounded horseman rolled down from his horse!
He didn't shout,
he did'nt call back those who go along,
he just looked with brimming eyes
at the shining horseshoes of departing riders!

O what a pity!
What a pity for him that
no more he shall lie on the foaming necks of galloping horses,
no more he shall play his sword behind the white armies!

The sounds of the horseshoes fades away slowly,
the horsemen vanish at where the sun sets!

Horsemen horsemen red horsemen,
their horses winged with wind!
Their horses winged with...
Their horses winged...
Their horses...
Horse...

Life has passed like the wind winged horsemen!

The voice of the flowing water ceased.
The shadows shadowed
the colours wiped off.
Black coverings came down
over his blue eyes,
the weeping willows hung down
over his
yellow hair!

Weep not weeping willow
weep not,
in the mirror of the black water clasp not your hands!
clasp not your hands!
weep not! ~ Nâzım Hikmet Ran

Emptiness was an index. It recorded the incomprehensible chronicle of the metropolis, the demographic realities, how money worked, the cobbled-together lifestyles and roosting habits. The population remained at a miraculous density, it seemed to him, for the empty rooms brimmed with evidence, in the stragglers they did or did not contain, in the busted barricades, in the expired relatives on the futon beds, arms crossed over their chests in ad hoc rites. The rooms stored anthropological clues re: kinship rituals and taboos. How they treated their dead.

The rich tended to escape. Entire white-glove buildings were devoid, as Omega discovered after they worried the seams of and then shattered the glass doors to the lobby (no choice, despite the No-No Cards). The rich fled during the convulsions of the great evacuation, dragging their distilled possessions in wheeled luggage of European manufacture, leaving their thousand-dollar floor lamps to attract dust to their silver surfaces and recount luxury to later visitors, bowing like weeping willows over imported pile rugs. A larger percentage of the poor tended to stay, shoving layaway bureaus and media consoles up against the doors. There were those who decided to stay, willfully uncomprehending or stupid or incapacitated by the scope of the disaster, and those who could not leave for a hundred other reasons - because they were waiting for their girlfriend or mother or soul mate to make it home first, because their mobil ~ Colson Whitehead

16Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, became furious, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had ascertained from the wise men. 17 a Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah: 18 b A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they c are no more. ~ Anonymous

Here grew willows and alders, their trunks twisted like giants' sinews. Around them bark lichen bloomed blue-white in the darkness. It felt like a good place, where there was old magic. ~ Duncan Harper

Julia closed her eyes and concentrated on the words to Lacrimosa, sung loudly and hauntingly by the multi-voice choir in Latin ...
Day of Weeping,on which will rise from ashes guilty man for judgment. So have mercy, O Lord, on this man. Compassionate Lord Jesus, grant them rest. Amen.
What is wrong with Gabriel that he listens to this over and over again? And what does it say about me that I can't help but feel close to him when I listen to it? All I've done is replace his photograph with his cd - I'm just not sleeping with it under my pillow.
I am one sick puppy. ~ Sylvain Reynard

Coloured people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. ~ Ray Bradbury

The sin of smiling whilst Louise was weeping, the sin of shedding my own tears and not hers. The sin of being another being. ~ Simone De Beauvoir

To his distress, the Queen suddenly "burst into a passion of weeping and said it was plain [she] was to be miserable as long as [she] lived, whatever [she] did. ~ Anne Somerset

Suddenly, the voice of Yahweh broke Joshua out of his weeping. "Get up, Joshua. You sound more like the pathetic Israelites wishing they could go back to Egypt than their leader Moses in pleading for them." Joshua was terrified. He did not get up. "Joshua, get up, will you." Joshua got up. "Israel has sinned. They have violated my covenant and taken some of the devoted things of herem from Jericho. They have lied and taken them for their own possession. Therefore the people of Israel have become herem, and devoted to destruction. I will be with you no more unless you destroy the devoted things in your midst." "Who, my lord and god?" said Joshua. "Who is it who has taken these devoted items? ~ Brian Godawa

While I looked, I thought myself happy, and was surprised to find myself ere long weeping
and why? ~ Charlotte Bronte

Mother's estate - our estate - a thousand acres centered in a million more. Lawns the size of small prairies with grass so perfect it beckoned a body to lie on it, to nap on its soft perfection. Noble shade trees making sundials of the Earth, their shadows circling in stately procession; now mingling, now contracting to midday, finally stretching eastward with the dying of the day. Royal oak. Giant elms. Cottonwood and cypress and redwood and bonsai. Banyan trees lowering new trunks like smooth-sided columns in a temple roofed by sky. Willows lining carefully laid canals and haphazard streams, their hanging branches singing ancient dirges to the wind. ~ Dan Simmons

Alexandra practically took Steven's head off once because he borrowed one of my Playboys. Yet every summer, there's The Bitch laying out on the beach with her Fabio-covered soft porn.
Yeah, I said, "porn." That's what it is.
And it's not even good porn: "He moved his trunk-like manhood toward the weeping petals of her womanly center. ~ Emma Chase

The artist's greatest creation began
the night he washed his memory of his failures
rubbed opium on his lips
drank the wine that women offered him
and lay down and wept. ~ Roman Payne

Just as a dancer, turning and turning, may fill the dusty light with the soft swirl of her flying skirts, our weeping willow
now old and broken , creaking in the breeze
turns slowly, slowly in the winter sun, sweeping the rusty roof of the barn with the pale blue lacework of her shadow. ~ Ted Kooser

I worked through memories like weeping wounds. I wrote tedious accounts of petty conflicts and read them aloud to people. I removed layer after layer of rot. ~ Merri Lisa Johnson

Maybe this was now normal for Olivier. Maybe every now and then he simply wept. Not in pain or sadness. The tears were just overwhelming memories, rendered into water, seeping out. ~ Louise Penny

What could she possibly have done that was so heinous as to earn her a lifetime of self-mortification? No one short of a tyrant deserved such unremitting agony. I cried there with her, for her, for Eve, for sorrows past, for sorrows yet to come. I put my pencil away. It was wrong to draw live pain. If there had been an artist at Bethany, it would have been wrong to intrude his chalk or charcoal on Mary Magdalene's weeping as she washed Jesus' feet. Some things were too raw for art until time dulled their sharpness. ~ Susan Vreeland

And in weeping there was power. The power to heal, the power to release pain and let go, the power to endure love and to shoulder loss. And as the weeks became months, I cried less and smiled more. And peace became a more frequent companion. ~ Amy Harmon

He wept when they told him you were no longer allowed to see him. He WEPT. How much weeping have you done on his account, girl?"

"I wake up screaming every night on his account. ~ Elizabeth Wein

Have you reached the peak of the mountain?
Is it everything you'd hope it would be?
I think if we were trees we'd be willows and we'd let children swing on our branches.
I'm whispering into the air hoping you will hear me:
Your soul is my soul's home ~ Emery Allen

Remember the scene in Cat Ballou where a very drunk Lee Marvin goes from unconscious to ranting to triumphant to roaring to weeping defeat, and then finally passes out? One of the men watching him says, with real awe, "I never seen a man get through a day so fast." Don't let this be you. ~ Anne Lamott

After playing Chopin, I feel as if I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own. Music always seems to me to produce that effect. It creates for one a past of which one has been ignorant, and fills one with a sense of sorrows that have been hidden from one's tears. ~ Oscar Wilde

As a warrior, she won't have allowed herself to mourn. But women can't make themselves as detached as men. Our hearts are bigger. We feel loss in a way men don't. Orna has the body and mind of a warrior but her heart is like mine, and I know inside she's weeping. ~ Darren Shan

Things I love about spring are these:
Blooming flowers on fruit-bearing trees.
Fire-red tulips - their first reveal -
Followed by sun-yellow daffodils.

Trees acquiring new coats of green.
Natural waterfalls glistening.
The chirps and melodies of birds.
Throaty ribbits of frogs overheard.

A passing whiff of mint to smell,
Oregano and basil as well.
Colorful butterflies with wings.
Fuzzy, industrious bees that sting.

Sunlight waning late in the day.
Warm breezes causing willows to sway.
Most of all, a sense of things new,
Including budding feelings for you. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Love Letter"

Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no-
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter-
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chisled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Sylvia Plath

Amelia, I can't discuss this now. Or I'll start weeping and throw myself to the floor."
"Heavens, don't do that. Someone might trip over you. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Question four: What book would you give to every child?
Answer: I wouldn't give them a book. Books are part of the problem: this strange belief that a tree has nothing to say until it is murdered, its flesh pulped, and then (human) people stain this flesh with words. I would take children outside and put them face to face with chipmunks, dragonflies, tadpoles, hummingbirds, stones, rivers, trees, crawdads.
That said, if you're going to force me to give them a book, it would be The Wind In The Willows, which I hope would remind them to go outside. ~ Derrick Jensen

How do I know that someone is enchanted? How does one learn the linguistic expression of enchantment? What does it connect up with? With the expression of bodily sensations? Do we ask someone what he feels in his breast and facial muscles in order to find out whether he is feeling enjoyment? But does that mean that there aren't any sensations after all which often return when one is enjoying music? Certainly not. (In some places he is near weeping, and he feels it in his throat.) A poem makes an impression on us as we read it. ~ Ludwig Wittgenstein

Now, when it was too late, and Life's shops were closed, he regretted not having bought a certain book he had always wanted; never having gone through an earthquake, a fire, a train accident; never having seen Tatsienlu in Tibet, or heard blue magpies chattering in Chinese willows; not having spoken to that errant schoolgirl with shameless eyes, met one day in a lonely glade; not having laughed at the poor little joke of a shy ugly woman, when no one had laughed in the room; having missed trains, allusions, and opportunities; not having handed the penny he had in his pocket to that old street violinist playing to himself tremulously on a certain bleak day in a certain forgotten town. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

JUST LISTEN
When your mind is quiet and you listen closely, you will hear the children weeping silently. If you can't quite hear their cries, then listen with your eyes. These are the children of the streets, who have learned pain and suffering before they ever had a chance to experience life. Do not ignore their cries for help, for all they wish is that you will rescue them. They do not have a family that wants them, they don't know how it feels to be loved and they've never lived anywhere that felt like home ... the streets are where they find their voice and relief from all of the suffering.
Just listen and you'll see them. ~ Paige Dearth

The boys who have done you harm are surrounded by girls you will choose never to be. girls who are disgusting, who bleed and weep and wail. Girls who spend too much time in the bathroom. Girls who are never ready on time. Girls who titter, who are soft, who wear pretty clothes that are easily dirties, girls in hoop earrings and perfect wings of black eyeliner, girls who don't know what's cool. Girls who read the wrong books, twirl their hair around, are pursued, are hunted. You will remake yourself into something else: a boys' girl, a tough girl, a girl without needs or feelings, a girl who wisecracks and drinks whiskey in the backseat of cars, a girl cool as the first frost in winter, a girl so totally unlike other girls. If you cannot be loved and safe, you will be clever, mean, a girl as vicious as the serrated edge of a hunting knife. If you cannot be pretty, you will disdain beauty and its trappings. If you cannot be heard, you will be silent on purpose. You will find your knights again, a different set of boys, this time united against a common enemy: the softness and fragility of girls, of anything girlish within you, of anything girlish in any other girl. Against girls who are sad and silly and weeping (you don't cry), girls who complain (you protest nothing), girls who make demands (you never ask). This time, however, you will not be queen. Some of these boys will never even know your name. ~ Sarah McCarry

If you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing ~ Kahlil Gibran

It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear girls in the toilets of clubs saying, "Yeah, he fucked off and left me. He didn't love me. He just couldn't deal with love. He was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll
then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time. ~ Zadie Smith

Life isn't all perpetual bliss, nor is it one woeful weeping session. But you can concentrate so hard on noticing moments of one or the other that either a bright outlook or dim expectations becomes your regular illusion. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

The poetry of God is often written with stanzas of tears. Life can be brutal and difficult to understand. We sometimes find ourselves heart-broken and weeping over its circumstances. But God cares and understands. Tears have a language all their own, and tear-filled eyes are not a sign of faltering faith, but of our humanity. If God has put the love in your heart, He also understands its frailty and your tears. ~ Ron Lambros

For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favor is life. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. ~ King David

At such times as that, when the TV cameras begin creeping up on a mother weeping at her son's coffin, journalists should wonder where the profession is heading. ~ Don Davis

Raised in the Episcopal church, I was once removed from my pew, at age six, because I could not control my weeping. Unbeknownst to anyone, I had been staring at a terrible, glorious stained-glass window of the crucifixion and grieving for the pain Christ must have endured. The arresting mosaic of that forlorn image etched itself indelibly upon me. And yet at some point, I became emotionally and empathically detached. ~ William Stillman

If it were possible to heal sorrow by weeping and to raise the dead with tears, gold were less prized than grief. ~ Sophocles

It is certainly true that cooking is therapeutic, creative and all those other faintly creepy self-helpish words. I would love to tell you that learning to cook was part of my journey toward actualization. I would love to tell Oprah this. I would love to tell Oprah this while weeping. But I learned to cook for a much simpler reason: in the abject hope that people would spend time with me if I put good things in their mouth. It is, in other words (like practically everything else I do), a function of my desperation for emotional connection and acclaim. ~ Steve Almond

God uses people. God uses people to perform His work. He does not send angels. Angels weep over it, but God does not use angels to accomplish His purposes. He uses burdened broken-hearted weeping men and women. ~ David Wilkerson

The sun was barely above the trees and any moment it would disappear. There was a golden haze in the air and it was appreciably colder than even a few minutes before. A cloud of starlings wheeled above a distant stand of poplars, still bare, although in the next garden a willow trailed weeping branches like streamers of pale chiffon. The breeze was so slight it did not even stir them. ~ Anne Perry

Those who have witnessed executions say there is no sound worse than the weeping of mother watching her son being put to death.
They're wrong. There is one sound that is worse.
There is silence. ~ Carolee Dean

Eventually I confess to a friend some details about my weeping - its intensity, its frequency. She says (kindly) that she thinks we sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair. (Can a reflection be a witness? Can one pass oneself the sponge wet with vinegar from a reed?) ~ Maggie Nelson

I sensed weeping and salvation in the air, two of my least favorite things. ~ Haven Kimmel

Sufism (tasawwuf) is not wearing clothes that you patched; it is not weeping when the singers sing their songs; and it is not dancing, shouting, experiencing ecstatic states, or passing out as if you've gone mad. Rather, Sufism is to become whole without any impurities; to follow the truth, the Qur'an, and this religion; and to be seen in a state of awe, broken and remorseful about all of your sins. ~ Qadi Abu Bakr Ibn Al-Arabi

The Lord will do great things for me, and I will be filled with joy. I will sow in tears, then I will reap with songs of joy. If I go out weeping, Lord, carrying seed to sow, I will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with me (Ps. 126:3, 5-6). ~ Beth Moore

Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping. ~ William Shakespeare

She was more of a marble statue under a cascade of moonlight, smelling like flowers and ivy - the glory of a weeping graveyard angel. ~ Rob Thurman