Quotes About Grief

The house was still as death, and nothing but the wailing of the wind broke the deep hush.

She doesn't look like my Beth, and there's nobody to help us bear it. Mother and father both gone, and God seems so far away I can't find Him.

They were not all there. But no one found the words thoughtless or untrue; for Beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence, invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the household league that love made dissoluble.

Tell me how you do it, Marmee dear. My good mother used to help me... As you do us... interrupted Jo, with a grateful kiss. But I lost her when I was a little older than you are

She felt as if she had stabbed her dearest friend, and when he left her without a look behind him, she knew that the boy Laurie never would come again.

For, as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not with words only, but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of a greater grief than Jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went hand-in-hand with natural sorrow.

The good and dear people always do die.

Every one seems to be scrubbing their white steps. All the houses look like tidy jails, with their outside shutters. Several have crepe on the door-handles, and many have flags flying from roof or balcony. Few men appear, and the women seem to do the business, which, perhaps, accounts for its being so well done.

You've had the scarlet fever, haven't you? Years ago, when Meg did. Why? Then I'll tell you. Oh, Jo, the baby's dead! What baby? Mrs. Hummel's. It died in my lap before she got home, cried Beth with a sob.

Sacred moments, when heart talked to heart in the silence of the night, turning affliction to a blessing, which chastened grief and strengthened love.

Las personas buenas y muy queridas son las que mueren siempre.

When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable, and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one.

Grief is the best opener of some hearts

Don't grieve and fret or think that you can comfort yourself by being idle and trying to forget. Go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed solace. Hope and keep busy.

When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and sitting in the twilight, prayed for Beth, with streaming tears and an aching heart, feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console her for the loss of her little sister

Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet.

They both started laughing in that desperate high-pitched way people laugh when their hearts are broken.

Eliza's death, far from putting the whole situation to rest, only inflamed John's feelings anew, complicating his stormy relationship with his father.

In a little more than two years, they had suffered their father's disappearance and their mother's death, reducing them to orphans and throwing them upon the mercy of friends, family, and community.

Since Hamilton had at least one sibling who had died in infancy or childhood, the poem may have summoned up memories of his own mother's hardships: For the sweet babe, my doting heart Did all a mother's fondness feel; Careful to act each tender part And guard from every threatening ill. But what alas! availed my care? The unrelenting hand of death, Regardless of a parent's prayer Has stopped my lovely infant's breath

With his iPod all the way up, nothing in this world can touch him. Just over his pulse is a fresh tattoo- a dotted line and the words -----Cut Here----- Grief is a street he skates down. Hey, donkey's ass! He bides his time, sanding away his fingerprints, wondering how he could get his assailants in one room.

The lift of her heart she'd felt on the outcrop she now felt again, and it wasn't just love. She'd felt love before, known its depths when her mother died. This was something rarer. Happiness, Laurel thought, that must be what this is.

Rachel felt the grief grow so wide and deep it felt like a dark fathomless pool she'd never emerge from. Because there was nothing left to do now, nothing except endure it.

It amazed Rachel how much you could forget, and everything you forgot made that person less alive inside you until you could finally endure it. After more time passed you could let yourself remember, even want to remember. But even then what you felt those first days could return and remind you the grief was still there, like old barbed wire embedded in a tree's heartwood. And now this brown-eyed child. Don't love it, Rachel told herself. Don't love anything that can be taken away.