Quotes About Grief

Jasmine "Almost the twenty-first century" -- how quickly the thought will grow dated, even quaint. Our hopes, our future, will pass like the hopes and futures of others. And all our anxieties and terrors, nights of sleeplessness, griefs, will appear then as they truly are -- Stumbling, delirious bees in the tea scent of jasmine.

You work with what you are given, the red clay of grief, the black clay of stubbornness going on after.

The griefs of others—beautiful, at a distance.

And from that day on everything under the sun and moon made me sad—

It's as though I keep reliving the loss, not just Bryce's death, but my accident. Every time change drops by and wants to be fed, I wonder if I'll have enough or if it'll eat me out of house and home." "Grief's ravenous, isn't it? I suppose that's where the emptiness comes from, and we keep trying to fill it with Ã¢â'¬Â¦ food and blame, irritations and what all. Keeping busy.

When your father died, I thought I'd die too. But then your heart keeps beating, you keep taking breaths and getting hungry and needing sleep, so you know you're not dead. One day, something makes you laugh and you're ripped with guilt because you can. A month passes and then a year, and you've gone on with your life even knowing you couldn't, but you do.

You have to build yourself a ladder to take yourself out of sadness or grief or fear. Each rung lifting into better light." ....Imagination. She hadn't considered it a rung of a ladder, something she could draw on to change the circumstances she found herself in. She'd build a ladder with courage as a rung. Maybe kindness would lift her higher too.

Hope, wish, dream, need. Heartbreak, loss, pain, grief. Which was bigger, which was stronger? Love was stronger, but was there enough love here? Was there enough love to mend their hearts and make them work? How would she know? How could she know?

She pictured the diaphanous wings of flies glittering like cut coal in the air above her friend's body.

Lynx sat down beside Calinda. Tears moistened his eyes, and his voice exposed his pain as he whispered, "Don't you go and die on me, woman. It took me too long to find you. I love you, Callie; I need you. Please don't leave me. I promise you, I'll find whoever did this and make them pay," he swore furiously. -Lynx

Death steals a part of you.

My heart was already cracked, but this one word, gone, was the stone that broke it.

She cried so hard her tears formed a river, and tears of grief always run into the river Styx.

Nothing crushes the soul of a father more than the loss of the beloved son he failed to lavish his love on."

I want to scream sometimes, because I hate when people refer to a dead person as the late" so and so. I'm sorry to break that bad news, but that person isn't just late—they're not even coming!

After my mother's death, I had such difficulty relating to people.

There was a war all over the world and all over the world was grief. And yet I whispered into jewelled ears verses of love. It makes me feel ashamed. But no, not really.

You grieve what you lost and what you never had. If you try to short-circuit the grief, the grief will find a way to short-circuit you.

Similarly, if you lose someone, don't replace him immediately. See how long you can get by without that person and that position.

But I remember the moment when my father died. I wasn't a very committed Catholic beforehand, but when that happened it suddenly all felt so obvious: I now believe religion is our attempt to find an explanation, for us to feel more protected.

The certainty that someone will never come back," the narrator muses of the dead, "never speak again, never take another step…will never look at us or look away. I don't know how we bear it, or how we recover.

Hay un escritor llamado Clerk o Lewis que escribió sobre sí mismo tras la muerte de su mujer, y empezó diciendo: "Nadie me dijo nunca que la pena fuera una sensación tan parecida al miedo

tardamos en acostumbrarnos a utilizar los tiempos pretéritos con los muertos cercanos, no vemos pronto la diferencia.

cómo se puede dormir tras la muerte de un ser querido y sin embargo se acaba durmiendo siempre—.