He thought the world's heart beat at some terrible cost and that the world's pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.

Grief is the stuff of life. A life without grief is no life at all. But regret is a prison.

That the deep foundation of the world be considered where it has its being in the sorrow of her creatures.

He thought perhaps if he dreamt of him enough he'd go away forever and be dead among his kind

She came down the steps slowly, madonna bereaved, so grief-stunned and wooden pieta of perpetual dawn, the birds were hushed in the presence of this gravity and the derelict that she had taken for the son of light himself was consumed in shame like a torch. She touched him as a blind person might. Deep in the floor of her welling eyes dead leaves scudding. Please go away, she said.

It was the nature of his profession that his experience with death should be greater than for most and he said that while it was true that time heals bereavement it does so only at the cost of the slow extinction of those loved ones from the heart's memory which is the sole place of their abode then or now. Faces fade, voices dim. Seize them back, whispered the sepulturero. Speak with them. Call their names. Do this and do not let sorrow die for it is the sweetening of every gift

I suppose in the end what we have to offer is only what we've lost.

Chigurh shot him in the face. Everything that Wells had ever known or thought or loved drained slowly down the wall behind him

The lights of the city hovered in a nimbus and again stood fractured in the black river, isinglass image, tangled broken shapes splash of lights along the bridgewalk following the elliptic and receding rows of the pole lamps across to meet them. The rhythmic arc of the wipers on the glass lulled him and he coasted out onto the bridge, into the city shrouded in rain and silence, the cars passing him slowly, their headlamps wan, watery lights in sorrowful progression.

Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are with me.

God gave people tear ducts for a good reason, and folks shouldn't be too stubborn to use them.