Quotes About Grief

Ah, how good! How nice!" he said to himself, when he remembered that his wife and the French were no more.

that grief and this joy were alike beyond the ordinary conditions of life; they were openings, as it were, in that ordinary life through which there came glimpses of something sublime.

you might be persuaded there is an after-life not by arguments, but by going through life hand-in-hand with somebody, and all at once that somebody vanishes there, into nowhere, and you are left standing over the abyss, staring down into it. And I have stared down into it...

Tears, like bitter rivers, streamed down his dried-up cheeks, as he stood swaying in his brother's arms.

Ah, grief makes us precise!

Stunned and still not suffering. Swollen with care and anxiety and still not suffering. Useless, old and full of grief, but still not suffering.

Dear friend, I have searched all night through each burnt paper, but I fear I will never find the formula to let you die

Everybody's got this broken feeling, like their father or their dog just died.

They say: 'Come to tea and let us comfort you.' But it's no good. One must be crucified on one's own private cross. I know that V. will not come across the garden from the lodge, & yet I look in that direction for her. I know that she is drowned & yet I listen for her to come in at the door. I know that it is the last page & yet I turn it over. There is no limit to one's stupidity & selfishness.

Death augments distance and dulls the memory. Death reconciles.

The fact that Isabella had failed her friend in the hour of her greatest need and effectively stolen her possessions was forgotten in her touching display of grief.

It's like you've been in a terrible accident and had your arm amputated," she told him. "After a while, the pain goes away, and eventually you even learn to get along without your arm. Some days you're sad that you're missing your arm, and some days you're angry about it, and some days you're okay. But, no matter what, no matter how long it's been, you never stop missing your arm.

Khadija loved him for himself, not for who he would become, and he would never forget her in those later years, turning pale with grief at the sound of any voice that reminded

In Shia lore, Fatima lives on in another dimension to witness her sons' suffering and to weep for them. She is the Holy Mother, whose younger son would sacrifice himself to redeem humanity just as had the son of that other great mother, Mary. Like her, Fatima is often called the Virgin as a sign of her spiritual purity. Like her, she will mourn her offspring until the Day of Judgment,

his eyes narrowed in what seemed to be intense pain or grief, and others when he'd shudder violently. Whichever way it happened, he was left helplessly weak as the words formed inside him, waiting to be recited into the world. The pain was an essential part of it, part of the birthing process, for this is what he was doing: verse by verse, he was giving birth to the Quran.

you took my son away! Do you how hard it was for me to get him to go to school and graduate

I'm going to be an orphan like you." .... "I miss everything.

I'm going to be an orphan like you." .... "I miss Dad every day" ... "I miss everything." ... I woke up early with a heavy sadness... I was so stressed that I woke up at 2 a.m., mad with remorse... Frantic...

Loss Statement from a major local

When someone dies, you don't get over it by forgetting; you get over it by remembering, and you are aware that no person is ever truly lost or gone once they have been in our life and loved us, as we have loved them.

The dead don't give up anything, but the living do.

But grief is also a tonic. It is a healing elixir, made of tears that lubricate the heart.

'Tis a strange mystery, the power of words! Life is in them, and death. A word can send The crimson colour hurrying to the cheek. Hurrying with many meanings; or can turn The current cold and deadly to the heart. Anger and fear are in them; grief and joy Are on their sound; yet slight, impalpable:-- A word is but a breath of passing air.

Grief, after all, is like smoking in a damp country — what was at first a necessity becomes afterwards an indulgence.