Quotes About Grief

They walked back through the village, and Miri kept her eyes on the ground before her. The whole world had shifted, and she was not sure she could keep her feet. She was her ma alive again. When Miri returned, she found Marda moved

The day I won an Emmy was also the day my father passed away. I received a call from my sister on the way to the ceremony and had to turn my car around and catch the first flight back to Karachi.

Her grief for both of them was flavored with guilt the way salt flavors the sea; she could taste it in the tears.

Nadia," she says, very softly. I lean forward, straining to hear. Her expression has changed, drawn, as if in pain. "She's gone," she whispers. "The bed is empty." "Who, Mother?" "Nadia," she says again. "Her book is wrong. It's not Nadia's book." I know Mother. But it was only ever the book that was wrong. Not the daughter. Never the daughter.

I was wishing I was invisible. Outside, the leaves were falling to the ground, and I was infinitely sad, sad down to my bones. I was sad for Phoebe and her parents and Prudence and Mike, sad for the leaves that were dying, and sad for myself, for something I had lost.

We cried. The bones and dust of our fathers cried with us.

Francis stared down at the Duchess of York's letter. He swallowed, then read aloud in a husky voice, "It was showed by John Sponer that King Richard, late mercifully reigning upon us, was through great treason piteously slain and murdered, to the great heaviness of this City." As Margaret listened, the embittered grey eyes had softened, misted with sudden tears. "My brother may lie in an untended grave," she said, "but he does not lack for an epitaph.

What do you know of sacrifice? Need I tell you of York's dead . . . of Sandal Castle? My brother did survive the battle, his first. He was seventeen and he entreated them to spare his life. They cut his throat. Their heads were then impaled on York's Micklegate Bar to please the House of Lancaster, to please a harlot and a madman. She had my father's head crowned with straw and she left a spike between the two. . . . That one, she said, was for York's other son.

Yesterday your heart was broken because they left you

And so he went into another world—this world, where I do not see or hear him

And now I could hear the music think, as I had heard it then, the unspooling of the logic of being mortal—of dying, as my best friend had, when I was nine, and my beloved, when I was sixteen. I heard, again, what loving and being loved might sound like—or I heard what some comfort for the loss of that might sound like. I heard the body and soul of death—of love and death.

Maybe I'm half over who he was, but not who I thought he was, and not over the wound, sudden deathblow as if out of nowhere, though it came from the core of our life together.

But look! I am starting to give him up! I believe he is not coming back. Something has died, inside me, believing that

Dread and sorrow reaching, in time, into every reach

he wasn't crying for the woman who had died. He was crying for the woman she had been.

Bea's smile softened. "I was that connected to my Robert, as well. In many ways, losing him was worse than losing Leah. She was my blood, but he was my heart.

Thank you, no," Zoe said, speaking with an effort. "If I have something to occupy my hands, perhaps my heart won't hurt quite so much.

That love is a comfort to me. I know that the balm it now offers as I feel the wound of his loss will stay with me and transform this grief into something else.

I needed to grieve alone, not as a group and not as a spectacle.

Picture the rest of your life without Del and give me a one word description of it." "I can't decide between bleak or pathetic," Tyler admitted finally. "There you go.

Life rushed at her after her father died, as if to remind her that there can be no less life, that there can be no deprivation of life, that life is an endless and eternal living, even if your father is dead.

It was the sound of him alive, and the very last sound he made. Though the last sound he made was no sound at all-the sound of the breath that did not come.

She had thought that when someone died, it would be like they went into a different room. She had not known that life itself transformed itself into into a different room, and trapped you in it without them.

She had thought that when someone died, it would be like they went into a different room. She had not known that life itself transformed into a different room, and trapped you in it without them.