Quotes About Grief

Everyone has to go to a funeral at some time and you need to be dark and sombre, and in a black tie.

I realized, year of the tiger was 1974, which was the year my father passed away when I was a kid... My family, at that point, were Christian Scientists. So basically, this woman Mary Baker Eddy started this in the 1800s, and the premise is that you don't go to doctors. You believe that God is gonna heal you.

Pearls are for tears, Erik. Didn't you know?

Yeah, you were the only reason I didn't pick better ways to kill myself, Aunt Monica. It's the thought that there actually is somebody who'd miss me and grieve for me that makes my heart ache." ~ Juri

If only I had jumped from a building instead of slitting my wrists or drank sulfurid acid instead of taking sleeping pills! Yeah, you were the only reason I didn't pick better ways to kill myself, Aunt Monica. It's the thought that there actually is somebody who'd miss me and grieve for me... that makes my heart ache - Juri Motou

it talks to your corpse with gentle words.

Poor Elisabeth Kübler-Ross: so misunderstood. She is widely credited with identifying the five stages of grief. She didn't. Kübler-Ross worked with dying people, not grieving people. She identified clear phases people go through when they are dying not as stages but as emotional experiences that come and go and may overlap.

For men who had easily endured hardship, danger and difficult uncertainty, leisure and riches, though in some ways desirable, proved burdensome and a source of grief.

Why does nobody understand that these are tears without a beginning or an end? I thought sadness had a beginning and an end. And a middle. A story, if you like. I was wrong.

Sometimes celebrating, enjoying, and laughing seem almost inappropriate in a world as broken as ours. We look around and see panic on the faces of everyone we see. Tragedies become ordinary. How, in good conscience, can we laugh and celebrate and eat pizza? I believe we must celebrate - because celebration is one of the most effective weapons we have against the darkness of our day. The real grief of the state of our world is the pervasive fear that settles in our hearts.

Home is the place in which we picture, day after ordinary day, the fact that love will endure, that grief will be healed, that joy, one day, will last forever and the celebration will never end.

It had struck me that the world was full of holes, holes which you could fall into, never to be seen again. I couldn't understand the difference between disappearance and death. Both seemed the same to me, both left holes. Holes in your heart holes in your life.

What are you on?' said AJ. 'Leon's mum has died and you are determined to add to the total sum of misery by going out with the girlfriend of the nastiest piece of manhood that was ever assembled in the factory of life...

Great, huge sobs for herself, for her relatives, for the torment and shame of her past, for losses which could never be recovered.

The postmortem readjustment is one that many of us have had to make when our parents die. The parental door against which we have spent a lifetime pushing finally gives way, and we lurch forward, unprepared and disbelieving, into the rest of our lives.

My mother's death supervened, and this was the greatest blow I had experienced in my life. I worshipped her... I could not resign myself to the loss of a being on whom I counted to make invisible the unavoidable blemishes of my soul.

My mother's death supervened, and this was the greatest blow I had experienced in my life. I worshipped her... I could not resign myself to the loss of a being on whom I counted to make invisible the unavoidable blemishes of my soul." ? Salvador Dalí, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí

Blind Willie Johnson. 'Dark Was the Night.

We didn't find him for three days because we didn't realize he was missing. That's the saddest part of this story. He'd hanged himself from a tree, one of several that grew in a small sliver of land between my parents' house and the neighbors', out by a swing set untouched for years. He timbered over like a sapling when my father cut him down, his body gone stiff.

How does she know herself without a mother? How does she know herself without sound? I guess she knows the shape of things that aren't there instead.

I discover her anew in each black cat I see ... And it is only when I try to touch her, to make her linger yet awhile, that she dies all over again. A snowflake in my hand...

I wish i had been there to hold his hand,brush the dark hair away from his cloudy blue eyes..whisper to him over and over that he was loved..

Tears, that could be the tone, if they weren't so easy, the true tone and tenor at last.

Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.