Quotes About Grief

To be godless is probably the first step to innocence," he said, "to lose the sense of sin and subordination, the false grief for things supposed to be lost." "So by innocence you mean not an absence of experience, but an absence of illusions." "An absence of need for illusions," he said. "A love of and respect for what is right before your eyes.

The agony of losing him was monstrous. How could I deny it with a single syllable?

To be godless is probably the first step to innocence... to lose the false sense of sin and subordination, the false grief for things supposed to be lost.

We immortals, we have no choice but to make a companion of grief, for all the things to which we bear witness, none is more frequent than death.

It was hitting me again like so many violent blows that my world was dashed, that my house was ruined, that Amadeo was stolen from me.

or charms to drive off panic, or agony, of those who saw in the final careless, dissonant moments no tears perhaps or heard no pledge that I would mourn you forever.

My grief for Aaron would never go away, and I'd endured it for years without a word to either of my vampire companions, Louis or Lestat.

Oh, to think this burnt body had within it the blood of tears.

The ones we love become our burdens in death, and this is how we remain connected to them.

For if there's one thing immortality never frees you from, it's grief.

Never had I seen Amadeo so obsessed with either love or misery, with either happiness or grief. But the man was stubborn, the man was drunk, and the man wanted one thing from this strange person prodding him and that was more wine.

Ma la bambina, quell'antica bambina, la mia Claudia, era cenere. Un urlo crebbe dentro di me, un selvaggio e devastante urlo che veniva dalle viscere del mio essere; si alzava come il vento che faceva turbinare la pioggia su quelle ceneri, che batteva sull'impronta di una mano, sui mattoni, che sollevava quei capelli biondi.

There is no weakness in grief. There is no weakness in love.

The bluff heartiness, the posturing, the inflamed face, the badinage were missing. He was gray-white and his eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

That was one of the worst things about losing your wife, I found: your wife is the very person you want to discuss it all with.

People imagine that missing a loved one works kind of like missing cigarettes. The first day is really hard but the next day is less hard and so forth, easier and easier the longer you go on. But instead it's like missing water. Every day, you notice the person's absence more.

I'm a roomful of broken hearts

Reading is the first to go, my mother used to say, meaning that it was a luxury the brain dispensed with under duress. She claimed that after my father died she never again picked up anything more demanding than the morning paper. At the time I had thought that was sort of melodramatic of her, but now I found myself reading the same paragraph six times over, and I still couldn't have told you what it was about.

He wanted to say, Muriel, forgive me, but since my son died, sex has... turned. (As milk turns; that was how he thought of it. As milk will alter its basic nature and turn sour.) I really don't think of it anymore. I honestly don't. I can't imagine anymore what all that fuss was about. Now it seems pathetic.

Ah, God, it's barbaric, however you look at it,' he told Ruth. 'What, cremation?' she asked. 'Death.

Now she settled into the dailiness of grief—not that first piercing stab but the steady, persistent ache of it, the absence that feels like a presence.

In a way," I told Peggy, "it's like the grief has been covered over with some kind of blanket. It's still there, but the sharpest edges are Ã¢â'¬Â¦ muffled, sort of. Then, every now and then, I lift a corner of the blanket, just to check, and—whoa! Like a knife! I'm not sure that will ever change.

Two losses, in fact. Two very dear children: Emily and Nicholas. It was true that these days there happened to be two very dear grown-ups who were also named Emily and Nicholas, but they weren't the same people. It was just as if those children had died. He'd been in mourning ever since.

The child didn't wake. She only nestled closer and sighed. So after all, Ezra could have put his coat beneath her head. He had missed an opportunity. It was like missing a train - or something more important, something that would never come again. There was no explanation for the grief that suddenly filled him.