Quotes About Grief

Grief wrapped around her, eating at her heart. The house was full of chairs but she could not bear to sit upright.

C?ntã, zeiÈ›ã, mânia ce-aprinse pe-Ahil Peleianul, Patima crudã ce-Aheilor mii de amaruri aduse; Suflete multe viteze trimise pe lumea cealaltã, Trupul fãcându-le hranã la câini È™i la feluri de pãsãri ?i împlinitã fu voia lui Zeus, de când Agamemnon, Craiul nãscut din Atreu, È™i dumnezeiescul Ahile S-au dezbinat dupã cearta ce fuse-ntre dânÈ™ii iscatã.

but these lay dead on the ground, far dearer now to the vultures than to their wives.

Im Frieden begraben die Söhne ihre Väter, im Krieg begraben Väter ihre Söhne.

Telemachus hurled his arms round his father, and he wept. They both felt deep desire for lamentation, and wailed with cries as shrill as birds, like eagles or vultures, when the hunters have deprived them of fledglings who have not yet learned to fly. That was how bitterly they wept.

Poor Andromache! Why does your heart sorrow so much for me? No man is going to hurl me to Hades, unless it is fated, but as for fate, I think no man has yet escaped it once it has taken its first form, neither brave man nor coward.

When Achilles heard this he sank into the black depths of despair. He picked up the dark dust in both his hands and poured it on his head...he cast himself down on the earth and lay there like a fallen giant, fouling his hair and tearing it out with his own hands...[the maidservants] beat their breasts with their hands and sank to the ground beside their royal master.

I have endured what no one on earth has ever done before—I put to my lips the hands of the man who killed my son.

But it gained us nothing —what good can come of grief?

Poor wretches, what evil has come on you? Your heads and faces and the knees underneath you are shrouded in night and darkness; a sound of wailing has broken out, your cheeks are covered with tears, and the walls bleed, and the fine supporting pillars. All the forecourt is huddled with ghosts, the yard is full of them as they flock down to the underworld and the darkness. The sun has perished out of the sky, and a foul mist has come over.

O my poor child. I bore you for sorrow, Nursed you for grief. Why? You should be Spending your time here by your ships Happily and untroubled by tears, Since life is short for you, all too brief. Now you're destined for both an early death And misery beyond compare. It was for this I gave birth to you in your father's palace Under an evil star.

They burst into cries, wailing, streaming live tears that gained us nothing —what good can come of grief?

His mother then, Wailing, sobbing, laid open her bosom And holding out a breast spoke through her tears: Hector, my child, if ever I've soothed you With this breast, remember it now, son, and Have pity on me. Don't pit yourself Against that madman. Come inside the wall. If Achilles kills you I will never Get to mourn you laid out on a bier, O My sweet blossom, nor will Andromache, Your beautiful wife, but far from us both Dogs will eat your body by the Greek ships.

What is it that grieves you? Keep it not from me, but tell me, that we may know it together.

my own grief is greatest of all, for you did not stretch forth your arms and embrace me as you lay dying, nor say to me any words that might have lived with me in my tears night and day forever more.

and for all our grief we will hide our sorrows in our hearts, for weeping will not avail us. The immortals know no care, yet the lot they spin for man is full of sorrow.

I have endured what no one on earth has endured before. I kissed the hands of the man who killed my son.

Your arrows for my tears.

All right then. Here's my story. Even though it plunges me into deeper grief than I feel now. But that's the way of the world, when one has been so far from home, so long away as I, roving over many cities of men, enduring many hardships.

As it is, you lie mangled here, and my heart rejects all thought of food. Not that I lack it. I lack you.

Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say that [the gods] devise their misery. But [men] themselves- in their depravity- design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.

Pero aquel que se siente tocado por mi lanza no tarda en expirar. Su esposa se desgarra las mejillas, quedan sus hijos huérfanos y enrojece él la tierra con su sangre, y se corrompe, y hay en torno suyo más aves de rapiña que hembras gemebundas

Canta, diosa, de Aquiles el Pelida ese resentimiento -¡que mal haya!- que infligió a los aqueos mil dolores, y muchas almas de héroes esforzados precipitó al Hades...

I truly believe that the death of my mother has made me the way I am today. I am a survivor, mentally strong, determined, stronwilled, self-reliant, and independent. I also keep most of my pain, anger and feelings inside. I refuse to be vulnerable to anyone, especially my husband. The only people who see that more emotional or softer side are my children. That too because of my mother.