Quotes About Grief

Vianne sabía que Rachel no le estaba preguntando cómo esconderse en el granero, sino cómo podía seguir viviendo después de una pérdida así, cómo podía coger a un hijo y dejar marchar al otro, cómo podía seguir respirando después de haber susurrado «adiós».

Rachel había estado a su lado mientras enterraban a cada uno de sus hijos. Ahora Vianne tenía que enterrar a la hija de su mejor amiga. La mejor amiga de su hija. ¿Qué clase de Dios misericordioso podía permitir algo así?

Don't talk to me, don't approach me, don't ask your ordinary, everyday questions when my world has exploded.

A daughter without her mother is a woman broken. It is a loss that turns to arthritis and settles deep in her bones.

I think its just human nature to wish that the people who are gone from our lives are going to come back.

Loss would forever be etched on the child like a tattoo; it might fade over time, but it would never be erased.

Every time a good soul dies, I think the world gets a little darker.

She wished she could grab the memories like lifelines and hold on before she went under. But she found them slippery, impossible to grasp.

And though grief weighed her down—she couldn't take a step without seeing Sister Maria Andrzeja's empty eyes—she also felt lighter, untethered at last from a past that had always been an invisible weight. She was not Jerusza's—she never had been, and she knew that now. But neither was she her German father's. She belonged only to herself, a dove of the dark forest, the forest that called to her now.

it's terrible to see her slipping away. It's like standing on the deck of a boat, watching the waves suck someone under, and knowing that there's no life preserver to throw in.

There was something else, too, and I don't know why nobody talks about it. Marriage asks you to let go of a big chunk of who you were before, and that loss must be grieved. A choice for something and someone is a choice against absolutely everything else, and that's one big fat good-bye.

That's the thing about misfortune and grief: they have a lot of weight but no mass. You can't lift them on behalf of a friend. But at least you can bring food.

Whoever said that loss gets easier with time was a liar. Here's what really happens: The spaces between the times you miss them grow longer. Then, when you do remember to miss them again, it's still with a stabbing pain to the heart. And you have guilt. Guilt because it's been too long since you missed them last.

It wasn't quite the death of hope—part of her still hoped that Coop was alive somewhere. It was more like the application of hope. She wanted to make sure that no one else—child, adult, crew member, captain—would ever lose a loved one to foldspace again. It was probably a vain hope. But it would keep her going, for at least another forty years.

Arrête de pleurer. Ne sais-tu pas que tes larmes vont se changer en pluie, que la vapeur sortant de ta bouche va se changer en brume et que ton frère qui est mort ne pourra pas trouver son chemin vers sa future existence ?

Ahora estas sufriendo por ella. Pero ella esta muerta y ya no padecera mas. Y tu sufres en vez de ella. En su lugar. Y, haciendolo, ¿no estas empezando a vivir por ella?

After Kelsey had been taken, she'd quickly learned that people had a finite tolerance for the suffering of others. Empathy went only so far before their personal comfort levels maxed out, and they started backing away from displays of grief.

Dealing with the loss of Kelsey should have made her more attuned to the agony of others,

I heard people say that when you lose someone you love, they keep thinking they see him. Like when a stranger walks by, they'll do a double take to make sure it's not him. They'll hear his voice in a cafe only to realize that what they heard was the sound of some baritone DJ on the radio.

Real loss only occurs when you lose something that you love more than yourself. Anonymous

You've got to think of the fine times you had with your mate, not the moment of his perishin'. Every tear you shed now only wets his windin' sheet and disturbs his rest

How can we have rain without clouds? Our troubles have always brought us blessings, and they always will. They are the dark chariots of bright grace. These clouds will empty themselves before long, and every tender herb will be gladder for the shower. Our God may drench us with grief, but He will refresh us with mercy. Our Lord's love letters often come to us in black-edged envelopes. His wagons rumble, but they are loaded with benefits.

People lament for their losses because it´s easier mourn for the past than avoid them in present.

I would have understood if they had killed him.