Quotes About Grief

no se sabe muy bien qué hacer con los muertos

lo que Shakespeare llamó 'una cama afligida', o 'apesadumbrada', o 'desconsolada': 'a woeful bed

O mundo é na verdade tanto dos vivos e tão pouco dos mortos - se bem que permaneçam todos na terra e sejam muitos mais - que aqueles tendem a pensar que a morte de um ente querido é qualquer coisa que se passou com eles mais que com o defunto, com quem na verdade se passou.

Then we leave together,' he whispered. Just that, nothing else. And for the first time since they met, Scythe cried.

Je regrettais la mort de cette fille comme on regrette la destruction totale d'une belle Å"uvre.

There's no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were.

Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.

Clown in the Moon My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows. I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.

i remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched because somebody pressed a button (and down went my uncle Sol and started a worm farm)

annie died the other day never was there such a lay-- whom,among her dollies,dad first(don't tell your mother)had

When the Great War came he would wage it with the fury of the affronted. Neither Theodore Roosevelt's son Quentin, who was to die in a dogfight over France, nor the old Bull Moose himself, who was to die in grief not long thereafter, would survive Wilson's abhorrence of war.

truth is, I just shrug and soldier on. As kind as I am, as well-meaning and helpful as I try to be, I have no feelings finally, for good or ill. In the depths of my being, no matter what happens, I am left cold, impenetrable to remorse, to grief, to happiness, though I can pretend well enough even to the point of fooling myself. I am trying to say I am finally, terribly, unfeeling. My soul resides in a still, deep, beautiful, emotionless, calm cold pond of silence.

This is what language is: a habitual grief. A turn of speech for the everyday and ordinary abrasion of losses such as this: which hurts just enough to be a scar And heals just enough to be a nation.

Whenever tragic loss occurs, you either resist or you yield.

A child dies two days after birth. Her parents cried out for help, and hundreds of friends cried out too. Might there still have been deliverance? Consider that the parents had been delivered from death and the Evil One and that the child belonged to God and would be with him. Those deliverances might not lessen the parents' and friends' grief, but they do mean that the community can grieve with hope.

In death they were alone with their love.

He was softly breathing his life away, the dark blood flowing down his skin of snow and his eyes growing heavy and dim. She kissed him, but Adonis knew not that she kissed him as he died.

You die, O thrice desired, And my desire has flown like a dream. Gone with you is the girdle of my beauty, But I myself must live who am a goddess And may not follow you. Kiss me yet once again, the last, long kiss, Until I draw your soul within my lips And drink down all your love.

Mankind's chief hope of escaping the wrath of whatever divinities were then abroad lay in some magical rite, senseless but powerful, or in some offering made at the cost of pain and grief.

Should I come to you, Father, with anything that made me ashamed? What do I matter? What's honour to me? My honour is to keep her from harm and from grief. I have no other; I want none.

You can be at all fronts, wherever there is grief, in the power of the cross. Your compassionate love takes you everywhere, this love from the divine heart. Its precious blood is poured everywhere, soothing, healing, saving.

In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.

Everything about her was warm and soft and scented: even the stains of her grief became her as rain-drops do the beaten rose.

But I've caught it already. I am dead — I've been dead for months and months.