What is the saddest or most endearing passage you've ever

The part of Catch-22 where Yossarian goes looking for the ripped up shreds of paper that had that girls number on it, and then just desperately moves about the city looking for her absolutely shattered me. Not sure why.

>>9390774
That part in the Iliad when Hector is talking to his wife and his baby son gets scared of the helmet he is wearing. Makes you sad that such a good guy is going to die

House by the Pooh's corner.
Because Cristopher Robin says goodbye to childhood forever, but the bear doesn't understand it.

>>9391497
Fuccckkkkkkk. Hector didn't deserve what he got man.

Also, when Dante is walking with Virgil, and then he realizes that Virgil is no longer with him. That part got me, I grew pretty attached to Virgil's character.

>>9392555
That was such an anticlimactic goodbye

Princess Maria's pleading Andrei to not seek revenge on Anatole for seducing Natasha.
I think it worked on me because I grew so attached to the character and in that instant her religiosity, something that is often mentioned but hardly described, comes in full force. I think of myself as agnostic but Maria, usually so introverted, just expresses a feeling that goes beyond a mere "believing" which spoke to me directly.
It's one of the most affecting piece of prose I've ever read and I wish I could forget it all just to experience this passage for the first time again.

"Father, why have you forsaken me" is pretty heart wrenching

I always found Helen's death in Jane Eyre to be very saddening

The entreaty of Frankenstein's monster to his creator.

The old man's returning from sea and going about his business as usual.

The moment after Dominique leaves Peter Keating to marry Gail Wynand:
>He found Dumont at home. Together, they got Gordon Prescott and Vincent Knowlton, and
started out to make a wild night of it. Keating did not drink much. He paid for everything. He
paid more than necessary. He seemed anxious to find things to pay for. He gave exorbitant
tips. He kept asking: "We're friends--aren't we friends?--aren't we?" He looked at the glasses
around him and he watched the lights dancing in the liquid. He looked at the three pairs of
eyes; they were blurred, but they turned upon him occasionally with contentment. They were
soft and comforting.

My mother is a fish.

“I want to wait here till Daisy goes to bed. Good night, old sport.”
He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his scrutiny of the house, as though my presence marred the sacredness of the vigil. So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight — watching over nothing.