Quotes About Grief

I will not say I am sorry, but I can tell you that I grieve.

For Arthur Munroe was dead. And on what remained of his chewed and gouged head there was no longer a face.

I felt, in brief agonies of disillusionment, the gigantic blackness of this overwhelming universe, in which my days and the days of my race were as nothing to the shattered stars; a universe in which each action is vain and even the emotion of grief a wasted thing.

Vitur maður hefur sagt að næst því að missa móður sína sé fátt hollara úngum börnum en missa föður sinn.

Then she spoke with Yolanda, her eldest child, with whom she'd been shopping all afternoon for an Easter dress. Mommy, I'm not going to cry, Yoki said resolutely. I'll see him again in heaven. But something was bothering her, something clearly nagged at her young conscience. Should I hate the man who killed my father? she asked. Coretta shook her head. No, darling, your daddy wouldn't want you to do that.

Sad songs are a safe hurt. It's a diversion. It's controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it's not. You can't prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.

It's not the dead even. They're gone. Nothing you can do about that. It's what's left behind - the echo. These woods you're walking through. There are some old timers who think a sound echoes here forever. Makes sense when you think about it. That Billingham kid. I'm sure he screamed. He screams, it echoes, just bounces back and forth, the sound getting smaller and smaller, but never entirely disappearing. Like a part of his is still calling out, even now.

Right now, even though he'd been dead for years, she wanted to collapse in her father's big arms and hear him tell her that everything would be all right. Do we ever outgrow that need?

We have something in common now." Augie looks a question at him. "Well, something horrible," Tom continues. "We've both lost children. I know your pain now. It's like . . . it's like being members of the worst club imaginable.

The pain flooded in again. It was always there, of course. Through the shaking hands and slapping of the backs, the grief stayed by his side, tapping Griffin on the shoulder, whispering in his ear, reminding him that they were partners for life.

Paige has to come to it on her own. Don't you see that? I didn't 'let her go'"—Ingrid spat out the words—"because I don't love her anymore. I let her go because she's gone—and we can't bring her back. Do you hear me? We can't. Only she can.

I'm sorry, my dead wife mouthed.

Death sucks. Death sucks, mostly because it forces those who stay behind to survive. Death isn't merciful enough to take you too. Instead, death constantly jams down your throat the awful lesson that life does indeed go on, no matter what.

There was a Dana Phelps with a son named Brandon, but they didn't live on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The Phelpses resided in a rather tony section of Greenwich, Connecticut. Brandon's father had been a big-time hedge fund manager. Beaucoup bucks. He died when he was forty-one. The obituary gave no cause of death. Kat looked for a charity—people often requested donations made to a heart disease or cancer or whatever cause—but there was nothing listed.

But grief likes to hide behind bushes. It enjoys leaping out of nowhere, startling you, mocking you, stripping away your pretense of normalcy. Grief lulls you to sleep, thus making that blindside hit all the more jarring.

They say it takes a long time to comprehend a tragedy. You're numb. You can't adequately accept the grim reality. Again, that's not true. Not for me anyway.

Grief can be inordinately selfish.

They say that happens a lot with the elderly that ? to paraphrase Springsteen ? two hearts become one. When one dies, the other follows.

They say it takes a long time to comprehend a tragedy. You're numb. You can't adequately accept the grim reality.

Death is so close, always, a breath away, so perhaps it was wise to introduce children to that concept at an early age. Maya filled her head with inanities like this as she watched Joe's casket disappear into the earth. Distract yourself. That was the key. Get through it. The black dress itched. Over the past decade, Maya had been to a hundred-plus funerals, but this was the first time she'd been obligated to wear black. She hated it. To

I'm talking to you now not as a United States senator but as a grieving father. A grieving father who just wants to let his son rest in peace. I'm asking you to please stop what you're doing.' The pain in the man's voice was raw. Myron had not expected this. 'I'm not sure I can, Senator.

Eban Trainor shut his eyes for a moment. "I can't see how this matters anymore. We should let him rest in peace." "I'm not asking out of some kind of prurient interest." The

Death ripples, echoes.

Grief rarely attacks from the front. It prefers to sneak up on you when you least expect it.