And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear? - weep now or never more!
Suddenly you began to sob. It was an unnerving sound, like air escaping from a faucet when the water stops.
He drank his coffee and watched the Silex bubble and steam, and he wept. The weeping was very calm and completely silent. It and his cup of coffee ended at the same time.
But I think I cried more out of relief than self-pity. Relief because I was beginning to feel free. From whom? Myself, I think.
And then what we do, we cry, and we take our tears, and we put ’em in the ice box, in the goddamn ice trays until they’re all frozen and then ... we put them ... in our ... drinks.
He cries a great deal of the time: so steadily that the crying goes unnoticed, as would the habituate noise of a nearby waterfall.
There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole.
It’s a waste of water to cry, I tell myself, but I can’t seem to stop.
Man, I've always cried too easily. I cry when I'm happy or sad. I cry when I'm angry. I cry because I'm crying. It's weak. It's the opposite of the warrior.
On that long journey, she wept all the tears stored in her soul, leaving none in reserve for later sorrows.