Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Grim. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Grim Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Laurence Sterne,Marty Rubin,Matthew Inman,K.r. Helms,Richelle Mead for you to enjoy and share.
The sad vicissitude of things.
Misery, like life, is what you make it.
Anything that smiles often needs to be reminded that the world is a cruel, dark place.
Life's a grave dig it.
Death. Starvation. Blindness. Another grim day in our village.
The dungeon was a miserable place.
There are fates worse than death.
Sorrow makes an ugly face odious.
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
I was too miserable to take much consolation just from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders and salted, bloodstained tears.
A dead look in her eye, a thin grimace to her lips, a sick pallor to her skin that spoke of despair
To revive sorrow is cruel.
I wonder whether my bleak-o-meter is set differently from other people's.
I feel as though I made a face and the wind changed, and now I have to go through life grimacing in this horrible way.
Life is, of course, terrible.
There are souls which, crab-like, crawl continually toward darkness, going back in life rather than advancing in it, using what experience they have to increase their deformity, growing worse without ceasing, and becoming steeped more and more thoroughly in an intensifying wickedness.
What other people call dark and despairing, I call funny.
Not every tale has a happy ending. In fact, many of them are grim.
A lean sorrow is hardest to bear.
Such was the way the sad world turned.
Sorrow is dangerous.
Misery crouches beside me, ever larger and ever gentler; pain takes an interest, becomes huge and kind; terror flutters up, and it doesn't even frighten me anymore. And that'a the most desolate thing of all.
My life has become a dismal sigh fettered by pangs of grief and anguished weeping.
I was covered in gore, dripping in slime, and in a very bad mood.
Grief is terror, in its most undiluted form.
When the Grim Reaper comes to call, words fail- they're just too small.
The Reaper has come. And he's brought hell with him.
Sorrow, like rain makes roses and mud.
I don't smile a lot in my pictures. I'm always so ... grim.
To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,
Is such my future fate?
The morn was dreary, must the eve
Be also desolate?
The dark has teeth and it will bite,
It feasts begins on Sorry Night.
When cold and fear are intertwined,
They'll chew up your heart and feed on your mind.
Where have the souls gone? What do they see?
The gateway to Hell's eternity.
Certain aspects of their job made grim look like sunshine. The only thing that made it worthwhile was incarcerating bad guys so they didn't hurt anyone again.
Grief dejects and wrings the tortured soul.
Those occasional people who seem to achieve some kind of happiness here like your two dead colleagues, these are the things that Hell allows to flourish in tiny, stunted bursts, to make it immeasurably worse for everyone else.
There's nothing more painful than something that's superficially upbeat but you can kind of tell behind it that there's a cynicism, or even a bitterness.
Life is more hellish than hell itself.
Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
Grief is a hone to a hard mind.
It's expression was solemn, its complexion muddy.
When the soul, through its own fault ... becomes rooted in a pool of pitch-black, evil smelling water, it produces nothing but misery and filth.
Rain in the graveyard, and the world puddled into blurred reflections.
The mood of misery that descended never altogether lifted; it lingered like a cloud that might rain or might not.
All the untidy activity continues,
awful but cheerful.
Foul smell of the things that we do to escape
There is no glamour in this. No rock and roll.
This is just endings. This is just grief.
with a seeping glitter of dark blood,
fate has a cruel sense of humor
Things are rough all over.
But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
Memories and possibilities are even more hideous than realities.
The cold is waiting to ooze through the soles of your shoes. Maggot-damp, this city is festering: home to hollow faces of grey flesh. They stare from windows unclean, into the sun never reaches: dismal lives lived in dismal constriction.
Well, life is dark, isn't it? Mostly, it's dreadful. At the same time, death is funny too. I mean, look at the fuss we make of it.
Oh, what a dark and dreary tune is the beating of my heart.
Moroseness is the evening of turbulence.
We live in ugly times.
Grief has a ruthless commonality.
His lips made a grim twist that was like the joyless cousin of a smile.
It was a bitter and biting iron-gray afternoon, that clanked like armor and was as cold as a frosty axehead.
so heavy with sorrow , so full of pain
It is not time for mirth and laughter, the cold, gray dawn of the morning after.
The attitude of unhappiness is not only painful, it is mean and ugly.
Nothing is as tedious as the limping days,
When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways,
And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom,
Assumes control of fate's immortal loom
Death will never be pretty - its sights and smells too close and crude. And it will never come under our control: it gallops where we tiptoe, rips up our routines, burns our very breath with its heat and sting.
Mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust.
Life is hard and it gets worse and worse and worse.
Those who have no hope pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom.
The nightmare of living was begun.
Living is hell of a death
I can't die like this. I have things to do. My adventure has hardly begun. Everything goes black. I see Death. Ain't so fascinating. It's a sledgehammer.
Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
Rotten like fish eyes in a barrel.
All things are dark to sorrow.
Despair snuffs the sun from the firmament.
Life is suffering--and yet.
You can't be more horrific than life itself,
Frowning, I glazed
So many people are walking around looking so grim all the time. I just never understand why.
How lovely is death; and how niggardly it is doled out.
Living is a pretty grim joke, but a joke just the same.
Behind the mask of indifference is bottomless misery and behind apparent callousness, despair.
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, I told you so.
Hope can be as crippling as despair.
In this valley of tears we must expect much sorrow and little consolation.
It seemed cruel for a day to dawn so fair and end so foul as this one promised to.
Revenge is not sweet; it is gloomy and a waste of time.
Life is nasty, brutish, and short
Gaiety is the soul's health; sadness is its poison.
There are evils worse than death,
April is the cruellest month.
Misery misery son of a bitch of all miseries.
Bad and worse and worst makes a beggar's choice.
I looked down at the reaper's blood on my hands, and I felt very sad.
We woke as if from a nightmare only to find that the ugly are still not beautiful and the dull still do not sparkle.
The future is dark, with a darkness as much of the womb as the grave.
The territory of grief ... is both cruel and commonplace.
A cesspoolful of rotting monsters behind his slow boyish smile.
Life is hard, but death is even harder.
It was the cruelest of destiny's tricks, the death of a young person.
We have seen death before, Marnie and I, a mountain of ice melting over time, drops of water freezing at your core reminding you every day of that which has vanished, but the despair we know today is a sadness sailing sorrow through every bone and knuckle.