Quotes About Grief

No, Leweth. You fled to remember. You fled to conserve all the ways your wife had moved you, to shield the ache of her loss from the momentum of others. You fled to make a bulwark of your misery.

My first day back was a nonevent. I expected kids to make a big fuss and tell me how sorry they were about my dad and about the accident.

Hello! Your dear father is unfortunately very dead, he called. And you said my dispersal system would never work!

There were so many layers of reality to the world. Nothing stopped for death; nothing stopped for grief or horror or tragedy.

Her eyes felt swollen, and she knew she looked a mess, but sometimes...sometimes the emotions were just too big to hold.

Because what Miranda represents . . . it's dead, as dead to me as Gwen's marriage is to her. I tell myself that, even as I recognize that Melvin's ghost has never stopped haunting either one of us. Dead doesn't mean gone.

And without forgivness, there is never any peace.I tell you this from the distance of many centuries. My son gave his life. I won't reply to his gift with anger, not even for those who took him from me. Those same poor, sad people will wake up tomorrow grieving their own losses, I think, if they survie at all. How can hating them heal me?

Run first, mourn later.

I'm not fine. Soon, the tears will come. I can sense them building in the pit of my stomach, coating the belly of candy. They will come when I am alone in the dark, in my own bed, with no one to comfort me. I will mourn Laura then, in private. A Category 5 hurricane is building in my heart and soul, but right now it's offshore, waiting to make landfall, waiting to crush me.

you mourn, you hurt and you start to heal.

and the desire to spare him that grief rose in her like dark well water until she woke, drowning—

Every great loss demands that we choose life again. We need to grieve in order to do this. The pain we have not grieved over will always stand between us and life. When we don't grieve, a part of us becomes caught in the past like Lot's wife who, because she looked back, was turned into a pillar of salt.

And her eyes filled with heavy, regretful tears, yet she did not quite know for what she was weeping. She only knew that some great sense of loss, some great sense of incompleteness possessed her, and she let the tears trickle down her face, wiping them off one by one with her finger.

Sal, hortelana, del mar, flotando, sobre tu huerto, desnuda, para llorar por el marinero muerto! Llueve sobre el agua, llueve nieve negra de alga fría. Entre glaciares de nieve, abierta, la tumba mía. ¡Funerales de las olas! ¡El viento, en los arenales! Entre apagadas farolas se hunden mis funerales.

A part of me knew... from the moment I saw her; her death would have been one wound too many that day.

All death matters. Only to the living.

Such grief might be to them quite delicious, a delicacy.

Maybe from now on the bittersweet memory of a child lost would be only the sweet memory of a child loved. And maybe, henceforth, it would not be a memory so heavy that it oppressed the heart.

The past cannot be redeamed. What has been and what might have been both bring us to what is. To know grief, we must be in the river of time, because grief thrives in the present and promises to be with us in the future until the end point. Only time conquers time and its burdens. There is no grief before or after time, which is all the consolation we should need.

In this momentous night, however, he knew far more sadness than grief, and while deep sadness bruises the heart, it doesn't leave the enduring scars of profound grief.

Well," he said, "you can either do the wrong thing and let a loss like that destroy you, or you can do the right thing and be properly grateful for all that came before the loss. Grief should drive you to your knees, but if you stay there forever, you're saying you know better than God how the world should work. And you don't.

The cataract of grief is a longer drop than Niagara, and I guess I've not reached the river of acceptance at the bottom.

Her grief was now doubled by his grief. She wondered how many heartbreaks a child so young could endure.

Before she risked getting a dog, she also had to find out how she would deal with the loss of Snowball when he died. If losing a mouse wrecked her, then a dog's death would absolutely destroy her, no doubt about it, none at all.