Quotes About Grief

Sebastian says modestly that though his twin resembled him very much , she was reputed to be beautiful. But more importantly, she had a mind that was just and beautiful. she drowned in salt water, leaving sebastian to drown her memories in the salt water of his tears.

You hold too heinous a respect of grief. CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son. KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child. CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

Lady Macduff: Now God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son: If he were dead, you'd weep for him. If you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.

Raised in the Episcopal church, I was once removed from my pew, at age six, because I could not control my weeping. Unbeknownst to anyone, I had been staring at a terrible, glorious stained-glass window of the crucifixion and grieving for the pain Christ must have endured. The arresting mosaic of that forlorn image etched itself indelibly upon me. And yet at some point, I became emotionally and empathically detached.

The danger is especially apparent if the young person is affected by what has been termed "incomplete mourning"—has, in effect, been unable to achieve the catharsis of grief, and so carries within himself through later years an insufferable burden of which rage and guilt, and not only dammed-up sorrow, are a part, and become the potential seeds of self-destruction. In

loss. Loss in all of its manifestations is the touchstone of depression—in the progress of the disease and, most likely, in its origin

Is it best to know about a child's death, even one so horrible, or to know that the child lives but that you will never, never see him again?

The grief is coming now, she said to herself: He's beginning to know what suffering is. Perhaps that's good in a way. Even he. Perhaps that's good for a man—finally to know what suffering is, to know what a woman somehow knows almost from the day she's born.

I cried myself, thinking of the grass growing on her tennis court, and the cruelty that was natural.

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be...

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.

They had buried him under our elm tree, they said -- yet this was not totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.

And not there, not there, not there, Your laughing face and your wind-blown hair Leave not even a ghost in the garden.

You said that death was not the end; most true. Death was not stronger than my love for you. But since sweet love so lightly gives, my friend, We are not dead, and yet - this is the end.

As I come through the garden, Suddenly all birds seem to cease their singing: The tight-curled buds like birds on the branches swinging Silently shrink and harden On the naked trees that were once green fountains springing. And you are not there, not there, not there, Your laughing face and your windblown hair Leave not even a ghost in the garden.

But when his mother died, even while he was crying, something within him had risen up, a barrier to shield off his weakness and tenderness and frailty. He had thought, All right, then, I've lost her and I'm alone. All right then. The adult impulse followed the childish.

He went down and found the body floating. Francis had been dead about an hour. In one of his hands, clutched so that they could barely unfasten it, was a rusty nail.

To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don't get over it because 'it' is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. THIS HOLE IN MY HEART IS IN THE SHAPE OF YOU AND NO-ONE ELSE CAN FIT IN. WHY WOULD I WANT THEM TO?

I don't reproach the spring for starting up again. I can't blame it for doing what it must year after year. I know that my grief will not stop the green.

Every menu is an obituary.

When they said he didn't exist, he couldn't die of grief, so he had to be born. He's already out there living somewhere; he blinks his little eyes and grows.

Die - you can't do that to a cat... Something doesn't start at its usual time. Something doesn't happen as it should. Someone was always, always here, then suddenly disappeared and stubbornly stays disappeared.

Mia had three beautiful sisters and three brothers. One brother died behind the controls of a plane. Another brother committed suicide with a gun. The third brother was convicted of molesting boys and sentenced to prison.