Quotes About Grief

read so much about the grieving process over the past month. Devoured articles on the Internet, ordered books. All of them were clear that there was no timeline for grief. They were specific about symptoms of grief—the sensations of choking, shortness of breath, feelings of emptiness, endless crying. But nothing warned her that when she wasn't experiencing those symptoms of anguish, all that was left was a sense of meaninglessness. A great, vast gray space of nothingness. Limbo.

A woman's life has so many demands because she is the axis around which so many little planets spin. I did it and, yes, there were countless delightful moments. But that part of my life died when Stratton did.

Grief can make you question your goals and purpose. How you want to spend your life.

They were specific about symptoms of grief—the sensations of choking, shortness of breath, feelings of emptiness, endless crying. But nothing warned her that when she wasn't experiencing those symptoms of anguish, all that was left was a sense of meaninglessness. A great, vast gray space of nothingness

Love wasn't hard, she thought. Losing love was.

They were stranded on the opposite sides of death, at least for now, and that was all there was to it.

One of the most horrible realities about the death of someone closely related, she remembered, was the necessity of going on almost immediately with the trivialities of living. As though nothing of any real significance had changed.

Then he half raised himself from the ground, threw his arms into the air, and fell forward in his side. He was dead.

Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a light-house.

I went back to those graves not long afterward and found as I stood there that sadness was a very heavy thing. My body weighed twice what it had only a moment earlier, as if those graves were pulling me down toward them.

I began to feel that all the people I'd ever known who had died or left me had not in fact gone away, but continued to live on inside me just as this man's wife lived on inside him.

Sadness was a very heavy thing.

Grief is a most peculiar thing; we're so helpless in the face of it.

Sadness was a very heavy thing. My body weighed twice what it had only a moment earlier.

Mi madre y mi padre habían muerto y yo no podía hacer nada para cambiarlo. Pero supongo que yo también había estado en cierto modo muerta aquel último año. Y mi hermana... pues sí, se había ido; pero yo no me había ido.

Happily I didn't see her after she'd died, except for her legs, which were visible from the doorway and looked like slender tree limbs wrapped in wrinkled silk.

I began to feel that all the people I'd ever known who had died or left me had not in fact gone away, but continued to live on inside me

Aku tertidur nyenyak dan bermimpi aku sedang berada dalam bangket di Gion, bicara dengan seorang laki-laki tua yang menjelaskan kepadaku bahwa istrinya, yang dicintainya dengan amat mendalam, tidak benar-benar meninggal karena kenikmatan saat mereka bersama-sama masih hidup di dalam dirinya.

Si moría mi madre, ¿cómo iba yo a seguir viviendo en la casa con él? No quería alejarme de él, pero cuando mi madre desapareciera, la casa se quedaría vacía, estuviera él o no.

The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and irretrievably lost.

Therefore if egoism has a firm hold of a man and masters him, whether it be in the form of joy, or triumph, or lust, or hope, or frantic grief, or annoyance, or anger, or fear, or suspicion, or passion of any kind—he is in the devil's clutches and how he got into them does not matter. What is needful is that he should make haste to get out of them; and here, again, it does not matter how.

Her grief grieved her. His devastated her.

What came for them? Not death. Just the end of living.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined. Over the years, as the memory of Sophie Mol ... slowly faded, the Loss of Sophie Mol grew robust and alive. It was always there. Like a fruit in season. Every season. As permanent as a government job.