Quotes About Grief

He loved the idea of this country (theory and practice often being diametrically opposed), but the manner in which the original documents of freedom had been mangled to steer corporate/military interests drove him close to clinically insane. I believe it was grief for a nation that finally killed him.

She had lost all our memories for ever, and it was as though by dying she had robbed me of part of myself. I was losing my individuality. It was the first stage of my own death, the memories dropping off like gangrened limbs.

Grief and disappointment are like hate: they make men ugly with self-pity and bitterness. And how selfish they make us too.

I am late,' she said, 'I know that I am late. So many little things have to be done when you are alone, and I am not yet accustomed to being alone,' she added with a pretty little sob which reminded me of a cut-glass Victorian tear-bottle. She took off thick winter gloves with a wringing gesture which made me think of handkerchiefs wet with grief, and her hands looked suddenly small and useless and vulnerable.

It was not merely that his brother was dead. His brain, too young to realize the full paradox, wondered with an obscure self- pity why it was that the pulse of his brother's fear went on and on, when Francis was now where he had always been told there was no more terror and no more--darkness.

Ante mí desfilaban imágenes de praderas que se extendían hasta el agua, de viejos castillos sobre colinas surcadas de viñedos y chicas en bicicleta. Todo parecía limpio, ordenado, seguro, como había sido mi propia vida antes del funeral de mi madre. Recordé mi jardín. Echaba de menos mis dalias.

Neither of us mentioned him when we woke on the morning after his death...One is not jealous of the dead, and it seemed easy to me that morning to take up our old life together.

Das Kind zog an der Hand seines Vaters, und er konnte erkennen, wie die Lippen jene zwei Silben formten, die wie der Refrain einer grausigen Ballade klagen: Papa, Papa.

His mother is dead, yet she has never not been, in theory, at his shoulder. He wants her not to have known and suffered or even witnessed all the things that followed her death. Including all this now. But that would be like wishing her dead. Merely dead.

We shouldn't cross this place," I said. "A bad, sad place. It doesn't know it's dead.

yet he [Levon] somehow sings with the wounded humanity of a man without a tribe, a man who has known both love and grief and understands that one is the price of the other.

He had never seen such eyes before, not even in the faces of soldiers unmanned in the midst of great carnage. Eyes like black mirrors, at once shallow and bottomless. He had the feeling that if he pressed his finger to one of those eyes, it would shatter and fall inward through a black cavern of grief and loss that could never be filled.

Grief is the most solitary emotion; it makes islands of us all.

A man who has known both love and grief and understands that one if the price of the other

I've seen a lot of men on the south side of twenty die for no reason at all. Shot or mortared out of a clear blue sky, some times by their own side. I've heard them screaming in the back of my chopper with no hope of getting to a field hospital in time. And they don't scream to God, Doc. They don't scream to Daddy, either. They scream to Mama. Because they know Mama loved them more than anyone else ever could. More than even God, if there is one.

But just as no one really knows what it is like to be a mother until she holds her first child, no one who hadn't felt the sudden loss of a child could ever even approximate the stabbing ache that came with every breath. I

Mimi killed her brother

the faces of Mimi Garcia and her dead brother, Enrique. His was lifeless, chalky white. His sister's was full of fear. I'll take care

She's gone, yes. She'll live on in the people who loved her.

You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart, a wound that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.

Karl was seventeen when Joseph dwindled away, and somebody told him that was Hamlet's age when his father died too.

At first, when we truly love someone, our greatest fear is that the loved one will stop loving us. What we should fear and dread, of course, is that we won't stop loving them, even after they're dead and gone.

almost everyone I've ever loved is dead. And the only way to live with the constant cull of what you love is to take a little of that cold grave into yourself, every time.

Manchmal lieben wir nur mit der Hoffnung. Manchmal weinen wir mit allem ausser Tränen. Und am Ende bleiben nur: Liebe und ihre Pflicht, Trauer und ihre Wahrheit. Am Ende haben wir nichts anderes - nichts anderes, woran wir uns festhalten können, bis der Morgen dämmert.