Quotes About Grief

When one encounters enough strangeness, then what is strange ultimately becomes familiar. The mind can accommodate itself to almost anything, given time: pain, grief, loss, even the possibility that the dead talk to the living.

The trick was not to stifle the emotions, but to control them. Love, anger, grief – all were weapons in their way, but they needed to be kept in check.

He had found it hard to equate the priest's God with the one who had left his mother to die slowly and painfully.

And Frank was right: they were both fathers who had lost children, and somehow they had come through that loss—not without ongoing pain, and not without fractures, but they had endured

wanted to talk to them. I wanted to tell them that I was sorry. I wanted to say what every child wishes to say to his parents when they're gone and it's too late to say anything at all: that I loved them, and had always loved them.

He had, in truth, been losing her for a very long time.

Maybe this is common to all those who lose someone whom they have loved deeply. Making contact with another potential partner, another lover, becomes an act of reconstruction, a building not only of a relationship but also of oneself.

wants to accept that someone close might have taken his or her own life. Too much blame accrues to those left behind for it to be accommodated so easily.

In the space of one night, [I] had gone through the possessions of my dead wife and child, sorting, discarding, smelling the last traces of them that clung to their clothing like the ghosts of themselves.

but loss is absence, and will always defy expression.

On the day of the funeral he had stood behind me in the rain and let the water wash over him, the drops falling from the brim of his hat like tears

his obligations were few. They could, in fact, be boiled down to one: to find the one who had taken his wife and child from this world and tear him apart.

a sadness that turned the world to gray. He

My pal is dead.

Parker had seen men and women physically diminished in this way before, weighed down by suffering. Grief has its own gravity. They

Once upon a time – for that is how all stories should begin – there was a boy who lost his mother.

Life seemed entirely composed of weeping faces, old men sneaking up bedroom-stairs, tombstones with spittle trickling down, and black-edged calling-cards. He felt as if the First Cause of the Universe were a small, malignant grub, radiating a deadly blight in withering, centrifugal air-waves!

Why, what is it, how can flesh and blood come up with such stuff, how can flesh feel it. My lord life is strange. How is that Meaning comes to be? How? How does life cast it up, shape it, exude it; how does Meaning come to have physical, tangible effects, to be felt with a shock, to cause grief or longing, come to be sought for like food; pure Meaning having nothing to do with the clothes of persons or events in which it is dressed and yet not ever divorceable from some set of such clothes?

I used to think, in Belaire, that maybe you had gone to live with the List, and it hadn't suited you, and that one spring they'd bring you home dead. From homesickness. I saw how you would look, pale and sad." "I did die," she said. "It was easy.

Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

For the first twenty years, since yesterday, I scarce believed thou could'st be gone away; For forty more, I fed on favors past, And forty' on hopes, that thou would'st they might last. Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew out two; A thousand, I did neither think, nor do, Or not divide, all being one thought of you; Or, in a thousand more, forget that too. Yet call not this, long life, but think that I Am, by being dead, immortal; can ghosts die?

I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so In whining poetry; But where's that wiseman, that would not be I, If she would not deny? Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes Do purge sea water's fretful salt away, I thought, if I could draw my pains Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay. Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

Yet though these ways be lost, thou hast left one, Which is, immoderate grief that she is gone. But we may 'scape that sin, yet weep as much; Our tears are due because we are not such. Some tears, that knot of friends, her death must cost, Because the chain is broke, but no link lost.

It's like when someone dies, the initial stages of grief seem to be the worst. But in some ways, it's sadder as time goes by and you consider how much they've missed in your life. In the world.