“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] There are points where he wants to cry, and if he lets himself feel these stages you will be able to recognize them and go beyond them. [...]

(In the apartment below ours a baby began to cry. [...] The baby soon stopped crying.)

The idiot cries.
The tears slosh inside his boots.
The people say he’s bats
Because he weeps
When the police shoot down the starlings
Aiming at the tall-eyed trees.

One man bent to wash his hands in it
And saw
The skin peel off like dirt,
But the lawn was full
With the falling corpses of the birds,
And when he cried out, no one heard.

[...] Your mother cried out. [...] You interpreted her cry as one of helplessness and frustration and your father had hurt her. [...]

[...] Now do not cry or sniffle. [...]

Topside, those people see themselves as a tiny group crying in the wilderness, unrecognized, unheeded, prophets to whom no one will listen. [...]

Often when the child cries about a bogeyman, what he has seen is such an image production or fibrous projection, formed by vivid desire or fear on the part of the subconscious. [...]

[...] she said in the bathroom, half crying, after another struggle to get back into her chair from the john.

(“I might have to cry, to relieve myself of some of this tension,” she said. [...]

[...] The feeling was like the feeling she had experienced last night when she had cried out because of the back cramps, she said.

[...] Now these are things that you will learn, and I am not scolding you, do not look at me like that, or you will make me cry, but it is the only time I have to get a hold of you, and so I want you to understand what I am saying. [...]

[...] “What are you trying to do?” my wife cried out, “shock me into getting better?”

(“The baby downstairs has been crying a lot lately, in the middle of the night. [...]

[...] I also mentioned my Boy Scout dream of May 22, in which I saw her walking normally, and my vivid dream impressions of my father, of May 15, in which I woke up crying. [...]

[...] In any case, Jane and I were safe and dry on our little hill this time — a far cry from our experiences in the great flood of 1972, as described in The Nature of Personal Reality. [...]

[...] She had been crying, and tried to tell Jane something to the effect that she, Miss C, was going away. [...]

(Jane mentioned her dream to Miss Callahan, but she did not tell Miss C she had seen her crying, or dressed in black. [...]

They may find it easy to cluck their tongues at obvious fanatics who cry out for God’s vengeance, and speak about the world’s end in brimstone and ashes. [...]

Look out through his eyes, and cry out through his lips. [...]

[...] Jane cried while telling me about them, and while we used the pendulum. [...]

[...] He began to stalk through the apartment, crying out. [...]

From my studio at the back of the apartment came Willie’s cry. [...]

[...] I still cry for my wife several times a day, fifty-seven days after her death. [...]

[...] And as I talked to her I suddenly found myself crying for her again there in the semi-dark night while the wind seethed and roared. [...]

[...] In the beginning the running helped me physically handle my grief over Jane’s passing; I cried often as I ran, and tried to comprehend where she is now. [...]