Quotes About Grief

and after she went, Dalton didn't last long. His death certificate listed heart failure as the cause, but Owen Gray knew it had been loneliness and grief. After

Twelve years after Robin's death, no one knew any more about how he had ended up hanged from a tree in his own yard that they had known on the day it happened.

still when I lost her I lost sight of any landmark that might have led me someplace happier

It kept being a shock every time I remembered it, a fresh slap: she was gone. Every new event—everything I did for the rest of my life—would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part of, an ever-growing distance between us. Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

It was a stillness I knew; this was how a house closed in on itself when someone had died.

I was fairly sure this death had affected him more than he let show. Then again, I suspect that Julian's cheery, Socratic indifference to matters of life and death kept him from feeling too sad about anything for very long.

Hay cosas tan terribles que no podemos entenderlas inmediatamente. Y hay cosas —desnudas, farfullantes, indelebles tan horrorosas— demasiado terribles para que lleguemos a entenderlas jamás. Sólo más adelante, en la soledad, en la memoria, nos damos cuenta: cuando las cenizas se han enfriado, cuando ya se han marchado los dolientes; cuando miras a tu alrededor y te encuentras, para tu sorpresa, en un mundo completamente diferente.

Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things—naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror—are too terrible to really ever grasp at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory, that the realization dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself—quite to one's surprise—in an entirely different world.

I'll probably think about it all my life: that candlelit circle, a tableau vivant of the daily, commonplace happiness that was lost when I lost her.

My love was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother's death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her back. All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness.

Worse: the thought of returning to any kind of normal routine seemed disloyal, wrong. It kept being a shock every time I remembered it, a fresh slap: she was gone. Every new event—everything I did for the rest of my life—would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part

when my cat died I had to go out and borrow all these Simon and Garfunkel records.

Her death the dividing mark: Before and After.

What? said Charles, interrupting him. What did you say? You said Julian's gone? I must compliment you, young man, on your grasp of the English language.

commonplace happiness that was lost when I lost her.

I had to say goodbye to her once before, but it took everything I had to say goodbye to her then, again, for the last time, like poor Orpheus turning for a last backwards glance at the ghost of his only love and in the same heartbeat losing her forever: hinc illae lacrimae, hence those tears.

I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.

At the silence, my heart went cold. Dead flowers stood rotting in the massive Chinese vases and a shut-up heaviness overweighed the room: the air almost too stale to breathe...It was a stillness I knew; this was a house closed in on itself when someone had died.

sometimes, unexpectedly, grief pounded over me in waves that left me gasping; and when the waves washed back, I found myself looking out over a brackish wreck which was illumined in a light so lucid, so heartsick and empty, that I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.

Every new event - everything I did for the rest of my life - would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part of, an ever-growing distance between us. Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

He did touch people's lives, the lives of strangers, in an entirely unanticipated way. It was they who really mourned him - or what they thought was him - with a grief that was no less sharp for not being intimate with its object.

Remember that although bodies may pass away, the energy that connects you to a loved one is everlasting and can always be felt when you're open to receiving it.

During the drive he was so gay, that I said to him, laughingly, 'Dear Husband, you almost startle me by your great cheerfulness,' he replied, 'and well I may feel so, Mary, I consider this day, the war, has come to a close—and then added, 'We must both, be more cheerful in the future—between the war & the loss of our darling Willie—we have both, been very miserable.' 

There I go When my heart all worn by grief Sinketh low. Where my baseless hopes do lie There to find my peace, go I. Sad and slow . .