Quotes About Grief

Liesel was sure her mother carried the memory of him, slung over her shoulder. She dropped him. She saw his feet and legs and body slap the platform.

Menschen sterben an gebrochenem Herzen. Sie bekommen Herzinfarkte. Und es ist das Herz, das am meisten wehtut, wenn etwas schief geht und auseinander fällt.

One sat painfully now, among the falling chunks of rain, and the other stood next to her, waiting. "Why did he have to die?" she asked, but still, Rudy did nothing; he said nothing. When finally she finished and stood herself up, he put his arm around her, best-buddy style, and they walked on. There was no request for a kiss. Nothing like that. You can love Rudy for that, if you like.

A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT *** ***ABOUT RUDY STEINER*** He didn't deserve to die the way he did.

Immediately. Her brother was next to her. He whispered for her to stop, but he, too, was dead, and not worth listening to. He died in a train. They buried him in the snow.

As the density subsided, the rollcall of names limped through the ruptured streets, sometimes ending with an ash-filled embrace, or a knelt-down howl of grief. They accumulated, hour by hour, like sweet and sour dreams waiting to happen. The dangers merged into one. Powder and smoke and the gusty flames. The damaged people. Like the rest of the men in the unit, Hans would need to perfect the art of forgetting.

People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.

Earlier, I'd held her papa in one arm and her mama in the other. Each soul was so soft.

For a good ten minutes or so we stand there with the flashlight burning the grave with light. The whole time, I'm trying to guess where and exactly how he died and, more to the point, realizing that poor old Milla's been without him for sixty-years. I can tell. No other man has entered her life. Not the way her Jimmy did. She's been waiting sixty years for Jimmy to come back. And now he has.

I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.

If nothing else, they died fast and they were warm. The boy from the plane, I thought. The one with the teddy bear. Where was Rudy's confort? Where was someone to alleviate this robbery of his life? Who was there to soothe him as life's rug was snatched from under his sleeping feet?

There was no recovery from what had happened. That would take decades; it would take a long life.

I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.

Sometimes she would whisper the word Mama and see her mother's face a hundred times in a single afternoon.

Her mouth jittered. Her cold arms were folded. Tears were frozen to the book thief's face.

Non rendetemi felice. Non riempitemi, per favore, non lasciate che mi persuada che qualcosa di buono possa venire fuori da tutto ciò. Guardate i miei lividi. Guardate questo taglio. Vedete il taglio che ho nel cuore? Lo vedete allargarsi proprio sotto i vostri occhi, lo vedete consumarsi? Non voglio più sperare. Non voglio pregare che Max sia sano e salvo. O alex Steiner. Il mondo non li merita.

Still in disbelief, she started to dig. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead. He couldnt- Within seconds, snow was carved into her skin. Frozen blood was cracked across her hands. Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces. Each half was glowing, and beating under all that white.

She leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and Liesel kissed her best friend, Rudy Steiner, soft and true on his lips. He tasted dusty and sweet. H tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist's suit collection. She kissed him long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, her lips were fleshy, and she leaned in once more, this time losing control and misjudging it. Their teeth collided on the demolished world of Himmel Street.

His eyes were the color of agony...

She saw it all so clearly. Her starving mother, her missing father. Kommunisten. Her dead brother.

The survivors. They're the ones I can't stand to look at, although on many occasions, I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colours to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling amongst the jigsaw puzzle of realisation, despair and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.

Papa. She Would not, and could not, look at Papa. Not yet. Not now.

So much of the dying hurt us.

Don't go, papa. Please. Her spoon-holding hand is shaking. First we lost Max. I can't lose you now, too.