Quotes About Grief

Just like I know that the stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance, or whatever - don't come in a neat order. Sometimes they return over and over, like waves that alternate between pulling you under and spitting you back onto the shore -Piper

I cried only once during the twenty-one-hour flight. I was looking out the window at the moon and thinking of the last long trip I took across the sky, and of the person who went with me and didn't come back. For a while, it was as poisonous and wrenching as it had been since the day it happened, as intolerable: a crime against nature. Then the grief went back to sleep in my body. And it was again nature herself. Nature. Mother Nature. She is free to do whatever she chooses.

Grief is another world. Like the carnal world, it is one where reason doesn't work.

My pristine grief was intermittently marred by dread. I thought of the chilling words a friend of mine had once used to explain why his older sister had married a man she did not love when she was reaching the end of her childbearing years: She had run out of runway.

Thank God for the cats, I thought, when they had the compassion to sleep next to me on the couch, or looked on curious but unfazed as I bawled. They were good companions to have in this strange new world of grief: nonverbal, affectionate, no more baffled by agony than they were by dishwashing.

For a while, it was as poisonous and wrenching as it had been since the day it happened, as intolerable: a crime against nature. Then the grief went back to sleep in my body.

Euripides wrote, "What greater grief can there be for mortals than to see their children dead?" That was more like it. Am I allowed to say "my son"? Was it not a statement of fact that I had given birth on the bathroom floor of the Blue Sky Hotel in Mongolia and watched my son live and die?

GRIEF IS A WORLD you walk through skinned, unshelled.

Grief is another world. Like the carnal world, it is one where reason doesn't work. Logically, I knew that the person I'd lost was not fully formed, that he was the possibility of a person. But without him I was gutted. If my baby could not somehow be returned to me, nothing would ever be right again. This bitter winter would go on forever.

In her ninety-fourth year of life, Tanya still talks about her late husband with rancid disgust.

The people beneath the pendulum were in their own orbits of bliss or grief, which Shawna did not want to invade. Instead she made her way upstairs, reading the inscriptions that caught her eye, moved by the sheer accumulation of loss. Grief-fiti. That's what it was.

The past is usually the enemy of cheerfulness and cheerfulness is a most precious attainment. Personally, I could even go so far as to exhibit hostility toward grief and a marked hostility toward remorse—two states of mind which feed on the past instead of the present.

But in some ways he didn't survive.

Soon after her beloved young brother was killed, she asked me, "What is the purpose of grief? Does it serve any biological function?

Evil indeed is the man who has not one woman to mourn him.

As he stood by the desolate fire, he felt that the only one thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and complete retribution, brought by his own hand upon his enemies.

I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done.

His death didn't concern him. It was Sunshine he couldn't allow to die.

In every garden grows one single rose so perfect that once the frost takes it, no other can grow there again. My rose is and will ever be my Edilyn. And I shall never stop mourning her. Illarion's Tattoo

You need to calm down and remember that everyone grieves differently. Doesn't mean they don't care. You don't judge people in pain, and you damn sure don't lash out at them when they've lost what Syn has!

The earth grieves, and I grieve, and I am weary of the fight

It was the first genuinely shining day of summer, a time of year which brought Eleanor always to aching memories of her early childhood, when it seemed to be summer all the time; she could not remember a winter before father's death on a cold wet day.

Seit dem Tod ihrer Mutter war ihre Schwester der einzige Mensch auf der Welt, den sie aufrichtig hasste.

I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the deathcup mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.