Quotes About Grief

Broome introduced Flynn to Erin. Erin nodded and then put her head back down. Erin had never been good with the families of victims. "They're broken," Erin had told him before. Broome looked now into Flynn's eyes and thought "shattered" was more accurate. "Broken" suggested something clean and all the way through and fixable. But what happened to them was messier, more abstract, filled with shards and no hope of recovery.

They stood there, the two of them—the mother of a dead boy holding firm to the boy who had killed him.

They are stories I wrote because my friends are gone, a lot of them, and if you can't be angry about it, how the hell much did you care to begin with?

could hear AM draw in his breath. His toys had been taken from him. Three of them were dead, could not be revived. He could keep us alive, by his strength and talent, but he was not God. He could not bring them back.

Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passin'.

Isn't it about time you got over that? Bury your dead, Jean Louise.

Summer, and he watched his children's heart break.

Just about that time, Jean Louise's brother dropped dead in his tracks one day, and after the nightmare of that was over, Atticus, who had always thought of leaving his practice to his son, looked around for another young man. It was natural for him to engage Henry, and in due course Henry became Atticus's legman, his eyes, and his hands. Henry had always respected Atticus Finch; soon it melded to affection and Henry regarded him as a father.

The son—deceased's under that tree, doctor, just inside the schoolyard.

Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passin'.

I realize full well how hard it must be to go on living alone in a place from which someone has left you, but there is nothing so cruel in this world as the desolation of having nothing to hope for.

One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.

I read Naoko's letter again and again, and each time I read it I would be filled with the same unbearable sadness I used to feel whenever Naoko stared into my eyes. I had no way to deal with it, no place I could take it to or hide it away. Like the wind passing over my body, it had neither shape nor weight, nor could I wrap myself in it.

Death leaves cans of shaving cream half-used.

El conocimiento de la verdad no alivia la tristeza que sentimos al perder a un ser querido. Ni la verdad, ni la sinceridad, ni la fuerza, ni el cariño son capaces de curar esa tristeza. Lo único que puede hacerse es atravesar este dolor esperando aprender algo de él, aunque todo lo que uno haya aprendido no le sirva para nada la próxima vez que la tristeza lo visite de improviso.

Here's what hurst the most, Kafuku said. I didn't truly understand her--or at least some crucial part of her. And it may well end that way now that she's dead and gone. Like a small, locked safe lying at the bottom of the ocean. It hurts a lot. Tatsuki thought for a moment before speaking. But Mr. Kafuku, can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?

There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage of acute loss.

No, we weren't lovers, but in a way we had opened ourselves to each other even more deeply than lovers do. The thought caused me a good deal of grief. What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for--and to do it so unconsciously.

Here's what hurts the most, Kafuku said. I didn't truly understand her--or at least some crucial part of her. And it may well end that way now that she's dead and gone. Like a small, locked safe lying at the bottom of the ocean. It hurts a lot. Tatsuki thought for a moment before speaking. But Mr. Kafuku, can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?

Each day the sun would rise and set, the flag would be raised and lowered. Each Sunday I would have a date with my dead friend's girl. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was going to do.

The death of a dream can be, in a way, sadder than that of a living being. Sometimes it all seems so unfair.

It's a terrible thing when a person dies, whatever the circumstances. A hole opens up in the world, and we need to pay the proper respects. If we don't, the hole will never be filled in again.

All he felt was sorrow, as if he'd been abandoned at the bottom of a deep, dark pit. That's all it was—sorrow. That, and simple physical pain.

The thought caused me a good deal of grief. What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for - and to do it so unconsciously.