Quotes About Grief

People who don't honor their losses don't grieve. They may lose all joy in living, but they don't actively mourn, and this means that they don't heal.

Somehow we feel the earth should stop spinning and acknowledge our grief.

It is a bittersweet joy, but real nonetheless—the way our lost loves are forever in our hearts and minds. They are, in fact, constant to our consciousness in a way they couldn't be when they were alive, because then we depended on their comings and goings—the highs and lows of their being with us, the vagaries of presence and convenience. But

The greatest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.

Though the loved one has died, the memory, the sense of the person's presence, has not—nor the possibility, after a while, of taking continuing joy not only in the reminiscences from the past, but in the extension of the person's spirit into our ongoing lives.

Our best destiny, as planetary cohabitants, is the development of what has been called "species consciousness" something over and above nationalisms, blocs, religions, ethnicities. During this week of incredulous misery, I have been trying to apply such a consciousness, and such a sensibility. Thinking of the victims, the perpetrators, and the near future, I felt species grief, then species shame, then species fear.

Everyone is too young when their mother dies.

Grief expressed out loud for someone we have lost, or a country or home we have lost, is in itself the greatest praise we could ever give them. Grief is praise, because it is the natural way love honors what it misses.

I had drunk so deeply of grief and innocently gambled so hard with fate and irony that a special kind of vision was gathering in my eyes, not entirely clear just yet. This was the same look people saw in your eyes when you have died for beauty and come to live accepting nature as life with no promise of paradise, and mad at people who couldn't see that.

Grief expressed out loud, whether in or out of character, unchoreographed and honest, for someone we have lost, or a country or home we have lost, is in itself the greatest praise we could ever give them. Grief is praise, because it is the natural way love honors what it misses.

once your mother was gone, they were gone, and no one could ever replace them.

Blessed are they that mourn: For they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4

Living to an extraordinary age, she mourned them all equally as she buried her husband and, one by one, her children. In this suffering she found the best sort of perfection--the kind that never demands it of others.

And quickly. If you let it, grief could swallow you whole.

Blessed sister, beautiful one with broken wings. Your journey is a difficult one.... Breathe deeply and know that you are loved. You are not alone, though at times, you will feel like a desolate island of grief.... You will go on... Your wings will mend...

Why couldn't people just be who they were? Womanizers, drinkers, liars, and manipulators, instead of pretending around it all, hiding the secrets like dirty laundry stuffed under a bed, and then dying, so the grieving got whammed with two losses—the flesh-and-blood bodies and the images they thought they knew.

everything—sound, sight, feeling, certainly understanding. Christine remembered little of that night other than the smear of life and loss pulling her under, sinking her soul, and the sight of her mother crumpled in a chair with Uncle Harry and his glass of Johnny Walker Red. A man called, he'd said…

Does anybody wonder so many women die? Grief and constant anxiety kill nearly as many women as men die on the battlefield.

They say that time heals all wounds but all it's done so far is give me more time to think about how much I miss you.

Take away love, and our earth is a tomb.

Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

At different stages in our lives, the signs of love may vary: dependence, attraction, contentment, worry, loyalty, grief, but at heart the source is always the same. Human beings have the rare capacity to connect with each other, against all odds

Love is a fabric which never fades, no matter how often it is washed in the water of adversity and grief.

Human Love... It is that extra creation that stands hurt and baffled at the place of death. Being human, wanting children and sunlight and breath to go on, forever.