There would be no rainbow for the soul without tears from the eyes.

I quickly laugh at everything for fear of having to cry.

Tears are the silent language of grief.

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.

I did not cry then or ever about Finny. I did not cry even when I stood watching him being lowered into his family's strait-laced burial ground outside of Boston. I could not escape a feeling that this was my own funeral, and you do not cry in that case.

I always knew I would look back on my tears and laugh, but I never thought I'd look back on the times I laughed and cry.

Waste not fresh tears over old griefs.

And he remembered thinking then that if she died, he was certain he wouldn't cry. For it would be the dying of an unknown, a street face, a newspaper image, and it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman, while the hungry snake made her still more empty.

Ironic it is that a tear caused from such great pain tastes so sweet running across your lips.

If I could be anything. . . I would be your tear. . . to be born in your eyes, live on your cheeks and die on your lips.

I cry because I know he doesn't feel the way I do. I cry because I think of how pathetic I am. And I cry because I think I'll be crying forever.

A tear falls forever inside a broken heart.

Those tears are sisterly, the cloud that shadows her eyes rains down gentle sorrow.

Oh god of earth and altar, bow down and hear our cry!

Let me be hidden dark down in my grave before I hear your cry.

Instead of shedding tears for being hurt, lend your tears to someone who can't feel anything.

Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed.

Just because you don't see tears on the outside doesn't mean it's not pouring on the inside.

Cry and you cry alone. Laugh and you. . . cry alone later.

Tears are for the soul what soap is for the body.

Only eyes washed by tears can see clearly.

There is many a tear in the heart that never reaches the eyes.

Tears are the rinse water of an unhappy heart.

Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.

And now you weep! I haven't tears enough for what you've done to me.

But I can no longer stand in awe of this, nor, seeing what I see, keep back my tears.

He wept, fearing the beginning might not be the end.

The thought of it, of this side of human nature and its patience and its endurance and its being content with such miserable, scanty, sordid little pleasures filled her eyes with tears.

How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in anyway?

I felt just like Billie Holiday sounded, like I'd cried all I could and it wasn't enough.

And all the sacred tears were shed for no other.

I now know why you cry, but it is something that I can never do.

You may forget the one with whom you have laughed, but never the one with whom you have wept.

So I prepare, am dosed in ether and will not cry what stays unsaid.

The children are all crying in their pens, and the surf carries their cries away. They are old men who have seen to much.

You don't need to be taught to cry. Is the crying saying something? Does it mean help? Or hello? The cry of the gull is beautiful and the cry of the crow is ugly, but, what I want to know is, whether they mean the same thing.

I have the voices. A cry that is mine for keeps.

What is reality to this synthetic doll, who should smile, and have no evidence of ruin or fears? But I would cry, rooted into the wall that was once my mother, if I could remember how, and if I had the tears.

They do not cry help, except inside.

I never cried. Remember that! I never cried.

Dread, I have attended thee. Death, I have attended thee. But now touch is here. Touch is difficult. Touch is the revolution. Now tears run down me like Campbell's Soup.

I think I cried, but perhaps I didn't.

A scar remembers the wound. The wound remembers the pain. Once more you are crying.

Why do you weep. Did you think I was immortal?

What do you do when the only person that can stop you from crying is the one who's making you cry?

I wept not, so to stone within I grew.