Quotes About Grief

I was incapable of writing or feeling anything except the terror of her absence, of knowing she was lost, wrenched away.

Tu madre no está sola, Daniel. Está con Dios. Y con nosotros, aunque no podamos verla.

W wanted to remember Miguel but the fire of those hands on my stomach stole all my shame and my grief. I wanted to lose myself in them, even though I knew that at dawn, exhausted and perhaps overcome by contempt for ourselves, we would be unable to look each other in the eye without wondering what short of people we had become.

I wanted to remember Miguel but the fire of those hands on my stomach stole all my shame and my grief. I wanted to lose myself in them, even though I knew that at dawn, exhausted and perhaps overcome by contempt for ourselves, we would be unable to look each other in the eye without wondering what short of people we had become.

Forgive me,' he whispered. I held my father's gaze. Sometimes he seemed to grow a little older just by looking at me and remembering. I stood up and hugged him quietly. He held me tight and when he burst into tears the anger and the pain he'd buried in his soul all those years gushed out like blood. I knew then, without being able to explain clearly why, that slowly, inexorably, my father had begun to die.

When she died, I went to live with my uncle Gustavo

worst blows." Clara spoke these words

More or less everyone has lost someone, whatever side they belong to.

Seis anos depois, a lembrança da minha mãe era para mim como uma alucinação, um silêncio cheio de gritos que eu não tinha aprendido ainda a apaziguar com palavras. Zafón, Carlos Ruiz. A sombra do vento (Locais do Kindle 35-36). Companhia das Letras. Edição do Kindle.

I was still trapped in that dark, gloomy dining room where I now imagined Nuria Monfort sitting alone, silently tidying up her pencils, her folders, and her memories, her eyes poisoned with tears

And if one day, kneeling at her graveside, you feel the fire of anger trying to take hold of you, remember that in my story, as in yours, there was an angel who holds all the answers.

A pound of joy weighs more When grief has gone before.

Is it a crime, she thought, to use some one else's funeral as your own? A crime to take over another's room and closet and life and cassettes and telephone number?

Grief was the same, no matter what caused it.

Lord, give me the strength to fight the battle ahead, she prayed silently, and then looked up at Ruth Ann. "He stormed out of the house, and I never got to tell him I was sorry. A mother never, ever gets over that kind of grief, and I will always blame Matilda for ruining my relationship with my only child.

Little black and tan older dog? Verdie asked. Do you know who he belongs to? Belonged to, not belongs. Old man Rawling died about two weeks ago. His family intended to have Pete and Joe put to sleep the day after the funeral, but they both vanished.... Dickie bought that crazy bird for his wife, Mary, about six years ago. He'd promised her that someday he'd take her to a tropical island and then she got cancer and he couldn't take her so he bought her the bird.

We are never ready." Noah laced her fingers in his and gently pulled her toward the house. "We all knew my grandfather wouldn't last long, and yet when he was gone, we weren't ready to lose him. My dad went suddenly, so we sure weren't ready. I remember thinking at the time that it didn't matter if we had weeks to prepare for a loved one's death or no time at all. We could never be ready no matter how hard we try or even think we are.

still got power over you, even in death, if he can agitate you this much

a complete stranger, and yet grief is no respecter of persons.

The burden of grief she had carried with her to the hillside earlier was gone, vanquished by the storm of his loving. She'd left it amid the fallen leaves of autumn, beneath the scattering of winter snow that covered three graves. She'd buried it beneath the frozen ground that held prisoner the body of the baby boy she'd borne and buried by herself.

Then when he had washed the ashtray and the glass he brought out a pistol from his pocket and put a bullet in his chest.

Now that it was over there was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.

The point is that we all caught. And we try in one way or another to widen ourself free. For instance, me and Ludie. When I was with Ludie, I didn't feel so caught. But then Ludie died. We go around trying one thing or another, but we caught anyhow.

How can the dead be truly dead when they are still walking in my heart?