Quotes About Grief

Memories were especially dear, when they were all you had left of a loved one to hold on to.

She did nothing to try to control the shakes that rattled her body,and didn't attempt to stop herself from crying. Tears left both of her eyes at the far corners,slipping out and flowing over her temples.Some landed in her ears. Some eased down her neck and were absorbed by the pillow.Others clouded her vision,as if they didn't want to leave home.

i am... absolutely destroyed at the loss. (--manny)

Every night I went into Hannah's room and sat with her stuff. The thing I couldn't get was how her clothes and her books and her drawings were still there, but she wasn't. It just didn't compute. Her room was a like a car without an engine, everything where it should be, except all it was was potential. None of it was going to get used again.

Grief . . . is a sacred way of honoring those we love.

If deaths came in threes . . . he thought numbly. Who was going to be the third one?

Assail: We keep this up and I'll talk to you more than I speak with my own mahmen. Vishous: Isn't she dead? Assail: Yes. Vishous: Some bastards have all the luck.

You're just too mean to find a grave and lie down"-Tohr to Wrath.

His heart was as empty as her stare.

You want to know what death is! I'll tell you what it is—death is the living forgetting you! What you smell like and look like, what your voice sounds like, how you laugh! Even if there is an afterlife, my death is going to be you going on without me until you can't remember what color my eyes are or how long my hair is—

Being left behind was a special kind of loss. —

Going around behind the Dumpster he looked at his dead civilian and found it hard to breathe. The king knelt down and carefully brushed the hair back from the male's beaten-to-shit face. Clearly, the guy had fought back, taking a number of hits before getting stabbed through the heart. Brave kid. Wrath cupped the nape of the male's neck, slid his other arm under the knees, and slowly rose. The weight of the dead was heavier than the pounds of the body.

Brave kid. Wrath cupped the nape of the male's neck, slid his other arm under the knees, and slowly rose. The weight of the dead was heavier than the pounds of the body. As he stepped away from the Dumpster and started for the Escalade, Wrath felt as though he held his whole race aloft in his arms, and he was glad he had to wear sunglasses to protect his weak eyes. His wraparounds hid the sheen of tears.

How do you reconcile both gratitude and grief, he wondered. "Thank you," he said softly. "I'm going to love her with everything I'm worth, for the rest of my life, and I owe it all to you." "My sacrifice didn't mean shit, remember?" the angel returned. "Just enjoy true love enough for the both of us, okay?

Are you all right?" she asked. In a voice that sounded absolutely, positively, exactly, like his brother's dead shellan. —

Alguna vez había sido un ser vivo, una hija, una hermana... alguien... Ahora se estaba endureciendo y volviéndose como el acero, en medio de su pesadilla. Embalsamada.

The dead were immortal in the souls of those they left behind, and the payment for that permanence was pain.

When Ehlena finally spoke, her voice was a thin whisper. "Don't do this to me. Don't make me see you in the morgue. Don't do that to me." Rehv squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm not doing anything to you." "The hell you aren't." Her voice cracked on a sob. "Ehlena…" -Ehlena & Rehv

Great loss, like death, required time to become real. The brain needed to get trained in the absence, the never again, the there-but-now-gone. Emotions, after all, could be so strong that they could warp reality—not in the sense that mourning could resurrect what had been lost, but more like grief could sharpen recollection to such painful degrees that it was as if you could call the person to you, touch them . . . hold them.

Vuoi sapere cos'è la morte? Te lo dico io cos'è.... la morte è la vita che si dimentica di te! Come profumi e che aspetto hai, che suono ha la tua voce, come ridi! Anche se c'è una vita dopo la morte, la mia morte sarà tu che vai avanti Senza di me fino a che non ti ricorderai più di che colore sono i miei occhi o quanto lunghi sono i miei capelli.... Le Ombre by J.R.Ward

Down in Denver, all I did was die.

Accept loss forever.

I'm stuck struggling in the cold water, and all I can do is grieve, grieve, in the hoar necessitous horror of the morning, bitterly I hate myself, bitterly it's too late yet while I feel better I still feel ephemeral and unreal and unable to straighten my thoughts or even really grieve, in fact I feel too stupid to be really bitter, in short I don't know what I'm doing and I'm being told what to do...

Ordinarily the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother - I loved Tyke with all my heart