Quotes About Grief

if you never know sorrow then you will never know love and if you never know death then you never know life.

To lose someone close to you is to enter an experience no amount of forethought or hindsight can free you from. You must live through grief. You cannot outsmart it, nor think through the fact of someone's being gone, and forever. You must survive the sorrow.

Death brings with it a duty and devotion that cannot be explained to those who don't know it. Why, after all, would you keep his crummy plaid shirts and give his good suits away? Why do material things matter at once less and more? Why, in the void, does ritual, both inherited and invented, rush in?

Grief In the night I brush my teeth with a razor

Grief for the earth, accepting the grief of the flesh and the grief of our grieving forever; grief for the flesh and the body and face, for the eyes that can see only into the world, and the mind that can only think and feel what the world gives it to think and to feel; grief for the mind gone, the flesh gone, the imperfect pain that must stay for its moment; and grief for the moment, its partial beauties, its imperfect affections, all severed, all torn.

I am no longer ashamed how for weeks, after, I wanted to be dead--not to die, mind you, or do myself in--but to be there already, walking amongst all those I'd lost, to join the throng singing, if that's what there is-- or the nothing, the gnawing-- So be it.

Often, in death, everything else fails. We are left only with the music and the meaning of poetry.

Death brings with it a duty and devotion that cannot be explained to those who don't know it.

I now know pain is part of any journey- that this is the opposite of grief, but grief the only way I know to describe waiting and waiting without knowing, hoping one day joy will arrive.

I think it is in grief that we need some reminder of our humanity--and sometimes, someone to say it for us. Poetry steps in at those moments when ordinary words fail: poetry as ceremony, as closure to what cannot be closed.

How I wish I could leave or forget all my dead.

Every pore mourns. Not the brain, nor the chest where bereavement nests, but the body, whole-- how it burns. The ache of new bone being grown.

To lose someone close to you is to enter an experience no amount of forethought or hindsight can free you from. You must live through grief. You cannot outsmart it, nor think through the fact of someone's being gone, and forever. You must survive the sorrow.

Grief might be easy if there wasn't still such beauty--would be far simpler if the silver maple didn't thrust its leaves into flame, trusting that spring will find it again.

The person you consider ignorant and insignificant is the one who came from God, that he might learn bliss from grief and knowledge from gloom.

Comfort murders the passion of the soul, then walks grinning at the funeral.

A simmering fire burns our hearts away; We sink and my heart in depth of agony lies; As with the dawn the taper of the lamp Laps up the last drops of oil and dies.

How many times had he listened to the death song of Cio-Cio-San and cried as though it were a new sadness just visited upon him?

Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.

Joy Division was scheduled to play at Tier 3, but Ian Curtis killed himself a week before the gig.

Miss Grant, I don't know where you got the idea that men don't have deep feelings, but that's wrong. Oh, we might be better at hiding them. But we get sad and scared and doubtful, the same as anybody else. I can tell you I cried lots of sowing tears when my uncle died after I came to Spiveyville.~Mack Cleveland

You're hurting. That's all right. Losing your pop is reason to hurt. But it's not a reason to hurt others. Keep that in mind.

But I'm used to him not being around, especially when I'm at school. I mostly didn't live with him. So I don't actually miss him even though I'm sorry that he's dead. Sometimes I realize that for a few hours I've forgotten all about him. I think I miss the idea of him more than miss his real self. Does that make me a bad person? I'm afraid it does.

Kimberly Brubaker Bradley