Quotes About Grief

Many who have spent a lifetime in it can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.

Many who have spent a lifetime can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.

All that we know about those we have loved and lost is that they would wish us to remember them with a more intensified realization of their reality. What is essential does not die but clarifies. The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.

Many who have dedicated their life to love, can tell us less about this subject than a child who lost his dog yesterday.

EMILY: Softly, more in wonder than in grief. I can't bear it. They're so young and beautiful. Why did they ever have to get old? Mama, I'm here. I'm grown up. I love you all, everything.—I can't look at everything hard enough.

For what human ill does dawn not seem to be an alleviation?

I try to live without you, everytime I do I feel dead.

The world we knew won't come back. The time we lost can't get back. The lives we had won't be ours again.

Or perhaps is is that time doesn't heal wounds at all, perhaps that is the biggest lie of them all, and instead what happens is that each wound penetrates the body deeper and deeper until one day you find that the sheer geography of your bones - the angle of your hips, the sharpness of your shoulders, as well as the luster of your eyes, the texture of your skin, the openness of your smile - has collapsed under the weight of your griefs.

All these tears shed in the world, where do they go? If one could capture all of them, they could water the parched. Then perhaps these tears would have value and all this grief would have some meaning. Otherwise, it was all a waste, just an endless cycle of birth and death; of love and loss.

All the tears shed in the world, where do they go? she wondered. If one could capture all of them, they could water the parched, drought-stricken fields in Gopal's village and beyond. Then perhaps these tears would have value and all this grief would have some meaning. Otherwise, it was all a waste, just an endless cycle of birth and death; of love and loss

Or perhaps it is that time doesn't heal wounds at all, perhaps that is the biggest lie of them all, and instead what happens is that each wound penetrates the body deeper and deeper until one day you find that the sheer geography of your bones - the angle of your head, the jutting of your hips, the sharpness of your shoulders, as well as the luster of your eyes, the texture of your skin, the openness of your smile - has collapsed under the weight of your griefs.

Strength, beti. Be strong. Bibi turns tearfully toward her. "How, mausi?" she asks. "How? He was my rock. How do I learn to see the world through my own eyes?" Bhima falls silent, feeling acutely her own inadequacy. By breathing one breath at a time, she wants to say. By waking up one morning after another. By putting one foot ahead of the next, until your feet recall how to walk again.

I'm not sure if I should pray to the Muslim God or the Hindu one. If Abdul were alive he would say there is only one God and I must pray to the God called Justice. But I am going to court because Abdul is dead.

Or perhaps it is that time doesn't heal all wounds at all, perhaps that is the biggest lie of them all, and instead what happens is that each wound penetrates the body deeper and deeper until one day you find that the sheer geography of your bones - the angle of your head, the jutting of your hips, the sharpness of your shoulders, as well as the luster of your eyes, the texture of your skin, the openness of your smile - has collapsed under the weight of your griefs.

She felt grief move within her like a barefoot woman flitting through a dark house.

But if Viraf had been unable to light her funeral pyre, she had done it for him. She had climbed on top of the neatly arranged pile of wood and lay down; she had lit the match that brought alive the flames that had devoured her. With her words she had birthed a fire that had scorched all of them. The fire had consumed her, turning her future and her dreams to ash;

a dozen funeral pyres were ablaze at the same time. Black smoke the color of despair rose from those pyres.

So this is how history gets rewritten, she thought. This is how it begins, with exaltation. Now it is not enough for a man merely to have been a man; now the etiquette of grief demands that we change him into a prince, a king. Now the flaws of a man have to be ironed out like creases in a suit, until he is spread out before us as smooth and unblemished as the day he was born.

I stayed alive for you, and you. But you killed me anyway.

After I accidentally broke my arm, and my foster mom…" He paused, jaw working. "When I survived the crash on the way to the hospital and my foster mom didn't, I started breaking my arm on purpose. Drinking all day. And I decided that I didn't deserve good things.

When we grieve, we naturally allow ourselves to feel the anger, hurt, disorientation, and sadness that are a part of processing pain. As we grieve, we let go of some of our hypervigilance. When we understand that feeling these feelings are part of the healing process, and that by feeling them we can allow them to dissipate, we begin to see light at the end of the tunnel.

The more I worked with clients' grief issues, the better they were getting. Additionally, trauma was not being talked about as a relational issue; it was talked about as if it happened just within a person. It was during this period that it also became clear to me that the trauma I was seeing in clients was the direct result of relationship pain, and that if it remained unresolved, it would continue to drive dysfunctional relationship patterns.

And no matter what anybody says about grief, and about time healing all wounds, the truth is, there are certain sorrows that never fade away until the heart stops beating and the last breath is taken. It