How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping? (Much Ado About Nothing)
You can cry, ain’t no shame in it.
The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.
But what am I? An infant crying in the night, an infant crying for the light; and with no language but a cry.
Man’s cry is to reach his fullest expression.
Tears are the silent language of grief.
Crying is the refuge of plain women, but the ruin of pretty ones.
I am weary of my groaning; every night wash I my bed, and water my couch with my tears. (Psalms 6:6)
I always knew I’d look back on the times I cried and laugh, but I never thought I’d look back on the times I laughed and cry.
He does not weep who does not see.