Quotes About Grief

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to god's throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach

Take from my head the thorn-wreath brown! No mortal grief deserves that crown. O supreme Love, chief misery, The sharp regalia are for Thee Whose days eternally go on!' For us, whatever's undergone, Thou knowest, willest what is done, Grief may be joy misunderstood; Only the Good discerns the good. I trust Thee while my days go on.

The heart which, like a staff, was one For mine to lean and rest upon, The strongest on the longest day With steadfast love, is caught away, And yet my days go on, go on. And cold before my summer's done, And deaf in Nature's general tune, And fallen too low for special fear, And here, with hope no longer here, While the tears drop, my days go on.

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning. His last word was, 'Love' 'Love, my child, love, love!'(then he had done with grief) 'Love, my child.' Ere I answered he was gone, And none was left to love in all the world.

Whatever's lost, it first was won.

I tell you hopeless grief is passionless.

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.

Behold and see What a great heap of grief lay hid in me, And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn Through the ashen greyness.

Thank you for the sympathy and interest which you have extended towards us in our heavy affliction. Even you cannot know all that we have lost; but God knows, and it has pleased Him to take away the blessing that He gave. And all must be right since He doeth all! Indeed we did not foresee this great grief! If we had we could not have felt it less; but I should not then have been denied the consolation of being with her at the last.

with not an instant out of the four-and-twenty hours to call my own. It appeared, at the last, that Wilson would have a drawback to her enjoyments in having the child, and I did not choose that: she had only a fortnight, you see, after five years, to be with her family. So I took her place with him; it was necessary, for he was in a state of deplorable grief when he missed her, and has refused ever since to allow any human being except me to do a single thing for him.

If your health should suffer, what grief upon grief to those who grieve already! And besides, we who have to live are not to lie down under the burden. There will be time enough for lying down presently, very soon; and in the meanwhile there is plenty of God's work to do with the body and with the soul, and we have to do it as cheerfully as we can.

But the personal feeling is nearer with most of us than the tenderest feeling for another; and my family had been so accustomed to the idea of my living on and on in that room, that while my heart was eating itself, their love for me was consoled, and at last the evil grew scarcely perceptible. It was no want of love in them, and quite natural in itself: we all get used to the thought of a tomb; and I was buried, that was the whole.

I was quite frightened about the effect of Wilson's leaving him. We managed to prepare him as well as we could, and when he found she was actually gone, the passion of grief I had feared was just escaped. He struggled with himself, the eyes full of tears, and the lips quivering, but there was not any screaming and crying such as made me cry last year on a like occasion. He had made up his mind.

When you are a certain age or when you have lost certain things and people, Aimee's crippling grief will make a terrible poisoned dark sense.

He blinked, his expression the strangest blend of grief and hurt betrayal; Kit saw it with a clarity which made a mockery of the ten feet between them.

There was the sense of something having been ripped from me; that heartbroken punch of loss without any memories to explain where it was coming from.

You know what you've lost, sometimes, and there's no point in talking about it. You turn around and look at the ruins, and then you either sink down by the roadside and cry or you pick up your pack and lump on.

Sly and sickways. I have to swallow my grief and my hope before it all spills down my face again: somehow she's not broken yet.

The list of what the world would not allow was long for mourning over.

He glanced down, his lashes thick and ivory against his blue-tinged cheek, and draw the dead man's sheath and knife from his boot.

Katya, Lesa's surviving daughter, surprised the activity on the veranda, her glossy black hair braided off her neck, unhatted in the sun.

He frowned at her now, studying her face-the sharp jaw and small nose, the high forehead over deep-set eyes, the architecture of pride and knowledge and competence that the sharpness of grief could not diminish.

Goddamn it, I am sick of watching people I like get killed. I like get killed. I am even sicker of getting people I like killed. It's not an acquired taste, let me tell you, every drink is bitter as the last. And they never get easier to swallow.