Quotes About Grief

Where will you plant your grief-seeds? We need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire.

If he were alive, she might come to see his flaws...but a dead man is perfect.

She cannot be saved? I cannot save her? Tenseiga... I let her die. For something like this. Nothing I could've gained was worth losing her. Nothing at all!"- Sesshomaru

They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth.

Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes, And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands. The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies. I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands, Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea's making Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned. There you'll be laid, past fear of sleep or hope of waking; And over the unmoving sea, without a sound.

she knew that Grandmother was no longer with them. The dazed look in the old man's eyes told her as much. She wanted to cry — not for Grandmother, who could suffer no more, but for Grandfather, who looked so helpless and bewildered; she did not want him to be unhappy.

We said goodbye. 'Remember this day, Ruskin,' said my father. He patted me gently on the head and walked away. I never saw him again. Three months later I heard that he had passed away in the military hospital in Calcutta. I dream of him sometimes, and in my dream he is always the same, caring for me and leading me by the hand along old familiar roads.

Meg Ryan is a beautiful and courageous woman. I grieve the loss of her companionship but I've not lost the friendship. We talk all the time and that was what our connection was about. She has a wonderful mind and we just like a chat.

When I think of the sacrifice yet to be offered and the hearts and homes yet to be made desolate before this dreadful war is over, my heart is like lead within me, and I feel at times like hiding in a deep darkness.

To someone who has not had a parent stolen from them, I can only attempt to explain how it feels. It's like having part of yourself hacked off without warning. Afterwards, they become like a phantom limb: you're sure they're still present because you can feel them, you communicate with them, but you just can't see them.

The stillness and silence shrouding Papá was the most complete I'd ever experienced. The silence came from where his breathing used to be. But it wasn't only his breathing that was missing. It was his presence.

I don't want logic right now. I just want to wallow in misery.

Take all away. I am content to know Such love is mine-for life is all too brief To grieve for pleasures bringing only grief; Give me but You; it is enough just so.

After the liberation, when the American Army freed me—I was working in a Nazi slave-labor camp—I went back to our home in Brno. I looked for my family. But they were all dead. Then I looked for the families of my friends. Judith, dear, it grieves me to tell you that your family, too, were all exterminated.

WILD ASTERS I am here to worship the blue asters along the brook; not to carry pollen on my legs, or rub strutted wings in mindless sucking; but to feel with my eyes the loss of you and me, not in the powdered mildew that spreads from leaf to leaf, but in the glorious absence of grief to see what was not meant to be seen, the clusters, the aggregate, the undenying multiplicity.

Every night passes grief-stricken, weeping.

They carved your name into the stone and then they put it in the ground, I run my fingers through the grooves When no one's around

All I was trying to do when they caught me was bury my mother in an unmarked grave.

Grief is the tribute we pay the dead," she said, matter-of-fact sympathy in her voice. "But they don't ask more than we can afford to give. They've never really gone from us, you know, those we love; they're part of our story, and we of theirs.

death of Ophelia while she was bringing Sebastian into the world. No

ancient Celtic belief that when a child dies at birth, an angel throws a daisy down upon the earth to console the bereft parents.

When animals express their feelings they pour out like water from a spout. Animals' emotions are raw, unfiltered, and uncontrolled. Their joy is the purest and most contagious of joys and their grief the deepest and most devastating. Their passions bring us to our knees in delight and sorrow.

My mother died yesterday, yesterday many years ago. You know, what amazed me the most the next day after her leaving was the fact that the buildings were still in place, the streets were still full of cars running, full of people who were walking, seemingly ignoring that my whole world has just disappeared. (rough translation)

Underneath my grief that day a resolution was hardening into cement: I would never, ever again create something thinking that I would be able to preserve it.