Quotes About Grief

Today, Aaron decided, he would begin to grieve in earnest. He would walk the lonely beach, mocked by gulls, uncaring, his every step a stately rebuke to the malign forces that had blighted his fate. His was the tragedy of a man who couldn't have his own way, and he intended to make known his anguish in the solemn solitude that only a stretch of sand, a suspiring sea, and a beetling cliff could provide.

Is this what makes people old, then? Not age, or decrepitude, but grief?

Grief shouts, Sorrow remains calm.

She passed the needle to the doctor And for once I knew what to do And held her head against mine. I cleaved to that smell And lied into her ear That it would be all right. The veterinarian, whom I'd fought About when to do this thing Said through tears That it would only take a few minutes As if that were not a long time But there was no cry or growl, Only the weight of her in my arms, And then on the world. - Bruce Weigl in the poem May

The railroad car stood in the midst of French villages that the war had effaced from the earth. The Germans were confronting an Allied leader who had learned of the death in battle of his only son and his daughter's husband in a single day. Foch remained cold to all entreaties, reflecting not only his own fixedness but orders from his equally unforgiving superior, Prime Minister Clemenceau.

The suffering of the world, the mystery of the universe, the impulse towards the sublime in love and heroism, the grief and despair over a dreamt of but unattainable beatitude, the hamlet-like visits to cemeteries, the romantic parlour, romantic beards, and romantic haircuts-all these and similar things gave evidence of restive spirits. It was expected and feared that they would join conspiratorial sects and rise with arms in their hand the moment they had the chance.

Then she took the heart and liver of the little girl, and she stewed them and brought them into the house for supper. The husband tasted them and shook his head. He said they tasted very strangely. She gave some to the little boy, but he would not eat. She tried to force him, but he refused, and ran out into the garden, and took up his little sister, and put her in a box, and buried the box under a rose-tree; and every day he went to the tree and wept, till his tears ran down on the box.

The weeping willows, on the other hand, are evocative of death. They are a little contrived, a little exaggerated, still green in the middle of all the colors of autumn, and there is a human pathos to them.

The world to come will be like this triangular railroad junction, raised to some unknown power. The earth has lived through several evolutionary stages - but following always natural laws. It is presently experiencing a new one, which follows constructive, conscious, and no less elemental laws. Regret for the passing of the old forms is like the grief of some antediluvian creature for the disappearance of a prehistoric habitat.

He wore a gleaming top hat. He had a pomaded, uptwirled black moustache. He looked like a first-class funeral.

In youth one has tears without grief; in age, griefs without tears

We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.

She thought of Flametail, her shy, sweet-tempered ginger kit, always eager to help his Clanmates, who'd grown to be a medicine cat and then drowned in icy waters; of Dawnpelt, who'd as a kit been fierce and playful by turns, who'd left ShadowClan for the Kin and been murdered by Darktail. And of stubborn, good-hearted Tigerstar. Her kits meant everything to her, too, and now Tigerstar was the only one left.

Goldenflower had padded away, Fireheart stepped forward and leaned down to lick Runningwind's dull pelt. "I will avenge your death," he promised softly.

His jaws parted as he fought for breath. "There's nothing left . . ." he choked out. "It's all dark—everything's gone. . .

Mourning Micah again won't change anything. He'd be proud I came here. This felt like his tree now.

How could StarClan do this? Have they no pity?" she spat. "I will never go to the Moonstone again!

Bramblestar is dead," he announced. "For good. StarClan has forgotten us." "No!

Dangling Leaf tipped his head. "Do you know Micah's dead?" he asked Cow. Moth Flight flinched, but Cow returned his inquisitive gaze steadily. "Yes." Dusk Nose nudged her brother. "You can't ask questions like that, Shade Pelt. It's rude." "Raven Pelt says we can ask anything we like," Dangling Leaf

Bluefur moaned.

Appledusk will regret the day he met me! All those times he said he loved me, all the promises he made—they were nothing but lies! He never wanted my kits, so he let them drown. He could have saved them, I know he could have!

den. He knew there was nothing he could do to help Morning Whisker, and he wanted to stay out of the grieving family's way. After a moment he began

Fireheart could not stop the words from tumbling out even though he knew the old medicine cat's breathing had faded into everlasting silence. Yellowfang was dead.

Floss is dead.