Quotes About Grief

Death ends a life, not a relationship

Misery colored by the greens and blues in my mother's voice took all the grief out of the words and left me with a conviction that pain was not only endurable, it was sweet.

In some respects, grief for the lost and missing is worse than grief for the dead, and sometimes just for a fraction of a second its intensity makes her wish Mikal would cease to exist, so she wouldn't have to wonder if she will ever see him again.

Laments were as old as verses of love, she knew. They were verses of love. For the departed who will never be met again, for the burned cities.

Why can't I wake up? she had said upon opening her eyes in bed the day after her mother's death.

While music may be the food of love, it can also serve as solace for love's demise.

You have to ration sympathy and grief in here the way you ration school supplies.

I watched them roam awhile, and had a small weep, but even grief had its limits. By dinner-time I was horribly bored.

I didn't really understand what mothers were, because mine was in a tree, but I knew they were very good things and you were very angry and sad if you lost them.

The tsar was holding her hands against his chest, the ring on his finger gleaming pale silver like the tears running in silver lines down his cheeks; he was gazing down at her with eyes shining jewel-green, as though she were the most beautiful thing in the world.

I didn't need this much more to lose.

But my father's irritation told me otherwise. I had been a disappointment to him from the beginning, my mother having taken an excessive number of years to produce me, and shortly afterwards miscarrying the overdue son and dying with him.

I turned away and folded my arms on the table and put my head down on them and sobbed. When I lifted my head again, blotchy and tearstained, he was there, sitting near me, looking out of the window, his face bleak. His hands were folded in his lap, the fingers laced, as though he had held himself back from reaching out to touch me. He had laid a handkerchief on the table before me.

even grief had its limits

Maybe when your mother died young, you became instantly old.

For you who came so far; for you who held out, wearing a black scarf to signify grief; for you who believe true love can find you amidst this atlas of tears linking one town to its own memory of mortar, when it was still a dream to be built and people moved there, believing, and someone with sky and birds in his heart said this would be a good place for a park.

He's mourning his son, number 3000 American dead in Iraq, but as far as he can feel, the worst one.

People do not die./ They die/ And then they stay.

Grief is an ambush. You're walking along feeling fine, look down, see a leaf, and begin to weep. —Jack

Los muertos nunca acuden a su propio entierro.

The only thing I can recall is that it rained all day and all night, and that when I asked my father whether heaven was crying, he couldn't bring himself to reply. Six years later my mother's absence remained in the air around us, a deafening silence that I had not yet learned to stifle with words.

Six years later my mother's absence remained in the air around us, a deafening silence that I had not learned to stifle with words.

Her face was lined with bitterness and her eyes looked glazed, tired of hating and weeping in solitude.

Sabien que aquell dia una llum s'apagava al món i que, a partir d'ara, tots estarien més sols, més buits.