Novel & Cerita Books About Tragedy

My voice was steady despite the fury pounding through my veins. "I don't think I will. This car is the only barrier between us, and I'm rather attached to staying alive." He studied me through the window. "You're exactly as predicted. Consumed by rage, unable to let go of the need for revenge. The perfect demonstration of my thesis about human psychology." "Stop talking like this is a theory. You destroyed lives. People are dead because of your manipulations." "One person is dead. Juliana Capulet chose to sacrifice herself for a boy she barely knew. That's tragedy, not murder."

"You executed a unconscious injury-avoidance maneuver. The resulting goal was a statistical probability born of environmental degradation, not individual failure." Silence—deep, quiet, and profoundly comforting—settled over the living room. Terry stared at the screen, then down at the dark hair resting against his chest. The heavy, suffocating knot of self-blame that had been twisting in his gut for the last four hours simply unraveled, leaving behind a deep, peaceful clarity. He let out a quiet, rough laugh, his left arm coming down to wrap securely around her shoulders, pulling her half an inch closer into the curve of his side.

“Claire, it seems you are so busy these past few days. I barely see you here in the mansion,” her mother said. “I’m very sorry mother. I’m just having so much fun on the book I read. It has really a great story. So I always look for a place where I can be alone.” “Oh what story it is?” “It is titled, Against the Tragic Fate. It is the story where the lead character was given a chance to relive her life again and fight the tragic ending of her story in her previous life.” Claire lied.

Kathleen's hand trembled and her lips moved but nothing came out. "What are you doing?" Vince spread his hands on either side of his body in frustration. He had to get her the hell out of here, Vivian was coming. "Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed hysterically. The weight of her situation suddenly fell upon her like a stone and crushed whatever was left of her composure. “I am ruined!” "I am not doing anything to you. I never promised I would marry you. Did I?” He shouted, fearing he may have said something to that effect while drunk.

Learning of this distinction, back in the halcyon days where I still breathed and subsisted on solid food, changed my entire outlook on things. A comedy can be tragic. A tragedy can be funny. The difference is simply in how things play out. I'm telling you this because I want you to know, despite the awful things that happened to me in this story, the loss of almost my entire family, the fear and rage and paranoia, the story that you're hearing is not, in fact classically a tragedy. It is a comedy. I remind myself of this a lot. * * *

When I pushed open my bedroom door, Lyra was practically vibrating with happiness on the chair beside my bed. A pizza box sat open on my sheets like some absurd offering to a goddess I no longer felt worthy of worshipping. Grief keeps stretching me thin — sometimes I go numb, sometimes a small thing makes all my feelings flood back at once. Humor and hunger both do that, in different ways.

You need to be able to look away, to explain that suffering away, to belittle it, to pretend that it isn't there, just so you can justify your own inaction. So why do we enjoy tragedy and sadness so much? Why are you even here? It can't be the world building considering its so shoddily done by all metrics, only really tossed in when the author remembers that she needs to explain herself. It can't be the characters. They're pretty much all author inserts and that's universally a bad thing. If its the messaging and morality, then I'm afraid that there's a long way to go, and that really doesn't explain why you're already here, considering the best is yet to come.

What happened to "not taking things too far" when Martin decided to suspend me, not even giving me a cardboard box to pack my things? "Martin," I said finally, "some things, once burned, are gone for good—literally and figuratively." I shook his hand off and walked off without looking back. Behind me, he let out a desperate wail. Only I knew that the real show was still ahead. The investors who had been tricked out of their money were probably already on their way.

“A tragic one.” “All the memorable ones are. Orpheus and Eurydice. Romeo and Juliet. Tristan and Isolde,” he listed. “They all die tragically at the end, or they may as well when they lose the love of their life. Sentient beings can’t experience love and obsession so complete without tragedy and loss. When you love someone, heartbreak is inevitable.” Lily didn’t subscribe to that idea. She believed in romance, in happily ever afters. She might not have experienced her own yet, but she had to believe there was a happily ever after somewhere out there, waiting for her. Otherwise, Anthony

"He's strong. You have to be strong for him too." I only nodded. I know it won't be okay. My father, Lucas, my life. None of them will be okay. I've long since learned that the Mafia is a dangerous world. It takes everything and everyone. But with the decade's worth of practice and experience that everyone will always leave, I don't know why it still continues to squeeze my heart. Because he's your father, you idiot. You can be a fucking animal and still feel sad for the fact that your father might be dying.