It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. — Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. — Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. — Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. — Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. — Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House
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It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.

— Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House
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sadness

More “Sadness” Quotes

Why shine, when there's nothing to shine on? — Kevin Brooks
Shhh,” Mr. Winston whispered into her hair. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.” He said it over and over aga — Crissi Langwell, The Road to Hope
And it was at this time that Sir Myles died of his hurt, for it is often so that death and misfortune befall some, while — Howard Pyle, The Story of King Arthur and His Knights
You still have friends who love you. It does not matter how many you have. All that matters is that someone thinks about — Neo Dallmeyer
i was a prisoner of events — Nigel Blundell, The World's Greatest Mistakes
She was always tired, these days. She put on one of those smiles that wasn’t really a smile at all, and they went on. — Jojo Moyes, One Plus One
A person's true character lies somewhere until after you might have pressed the wrong button without knowing, then you'l — Michael Bassey Johnson
And I loved you I loved you so There were times I forgot to breathe Waiting for the phone call For the sound of your voi — Veronika Jensen
You don’t have any control over anyone’s feelings.You can’t make your parents feel proud of you.You can’t make anyone li — M. Kirin
Life is defined by time, appreciate the beauty of time;A time to plant, a time to harvest. A time to cry, a time to laug — Lailah Gifty Akita
I measure every Grief I meetWith narrow, probing, Eyes;I wonder if It weighs like Mine,Or has an Easier size. — Emily Dickinson
At the heart of memory, is the stillness of time. — Manu Joseph, The Illicit Happiness of Other People