This was the first of the sorrows of Turin. — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin
This was the first of the sorrows of Turin. — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin
This was the first of the sorrows of Turin. — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin
This was the first of the sorrows of Turin. — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin
This was the first of the sorrows of Turin. — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin
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This was the first of the sorrows of Turin.

— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin
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More “Sorrow” Quotes

Even when a river of tears courses through this body, the flame of love cannot be quenched. — Izumi Shikibu
A Strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sorrow. The idea of sorrow — Françoise Sagan, Bonjour tristesse
I wept because I could not believe anymore and I love to believe. I can still love passionately without believing. That — Anaïs Nin
One third, more or less, of all the sorrow that the person I think I am must endure is unavoidable. It is the sorrow inh — Aldous Huxley, Island
We were talking the other evening about the phrases one uses when trying to comfort someone who is in distress. I told h — Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
Yes" Said Gandalf; "for it will be better to ride back three together than one alone. Well, here at last, dear friends, — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
True sorrow is as rare as true love. — Stephen King, Carrie
I hadn't said goodbye. It had been easier, like always, to just disappear, sparing myself the messy details of another f — Sarah Dessen, What Happened to Goodbye
I never guessed I could cry so hard my face hurt. — Vernor Vinge, A Fire Upon the Deep
What was the point in crying when there was no one to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yo — Cassandra Clare, City of Glass
She looked up at him and her face was pale and austere in the uplight and her eyes lost in their darkly shadowed hollows — Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
Again and again, however we know the landscape of loveand the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,and the — Rainer Maria Rilke