Quotes About Grief

everyone looks up like rats caught in a spotlight eating the brains of a friend dead in a trap.

accepting death folds the soul, tempers and layers it like a Damascus blade. When I'd thrown myself into the canal in grief, only to be pulled out by the Moor, I'd become colder, more durable.

I really miss her. I know you do. I hate this kitchen. Right there with you, kid. The good sister, she was.

There's a fine edge to new grief, it severs nerves, disconnects reality—there's mercy in a sharp blade. Only with time, as the edge wears, does the real ache begin. So

The songs of the dead are the lamentations of the living.

My heart died a while back. [Eragon]

On the beach, Roran stood alone, watching them go. Then he threw back his head and uttered a long, aching cry, and the night echoed with the sound of his loss.

Let'sss just kill him, said the shorter Ra'zac. He has caused us much grief. The taller one ran his finger down his sword. A good plan. But remember, the king's instructions were to keep them alive. -from Eragon, Chapter Title: The Ra'zac's Revenge.

Una montaña de cuerpos se alzaba delante de ellos, inmóviles cadáveres con muecas de dolor. La ropa que llevaban y la tierra revuelta a su alrededor estaban empapadas de sangre. Los hombres asesinados yacían sobre las mujeres a las que habían tratado de proteger, las madres aún llevaban a sus hijos en brazos, y los amantes que habían intentado escudarse mutuamente descansaban en el frío abrazo de la muerte.

Die Lieder der Toten sind die Wehklagen der Lebenden.

Eragon had not been close friends with Byrd, but he had known him to be a good man, honest and steadfast, and he remembered Byrd's wife, Felda, and their children with some fondness, for Garrow, Roran, and Eragon had eaten and slept in their house on several occasions. Byrd's death, then, struck Eragon as being particularly cruel, and he felt the watchman's family deserved justice

they cannot be as painful as losing my home and my father was.

It was the worst of things: loss utter and complete, without a chance of restoration.

Il canto dei morti è il pianto dei vivi.

Leave the dead to the Earth. They are not for us.

Something like hearing that your grandmother got her whole body pulled through the wringer on a washing machine, or something like hearing about a horse slipping on the ice and landing on some kid you went to school with.

There is no time for grief; there never is.

As the psalmists cry out in joy or grief, they stir us as we identify similar emotions in ourselves.

It is said, in Imardin, that the wind has a soul, and that it wails through the narrow city streets because it is grieved by what it finds there.

Musing upon the king my brother's wreck And on the king my father's death before him.

I was not sorry when my brother died

The darkest day of my life was the day I heard of Lincoln's assassination. I did not know what it meant. Here was the rebellion put down in the field, and staring up in the gutters...

He thought he would become accustomed to the idea, not yet understanding that it is useless to become accustomed to the loss of a father, for it will never happen a second time: might as well leave the wound open.

living the same sorrows three times was a suffering, but it was a suffering to relive even the same joys. The joy of life is born from feeling, whether it be joy or grief, always of short duration, and woe to those who know they will enjoy eternal bliss.