Quotes About Grief

When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.

When we lose someone we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.

It is a thing that knows no limit, and before it all men are equal; and the silence of king or slave, in presence of death, or grief, or love, reveals the same features, hides beneath its impenetrable mantle the self-same treasure. For this is the essential silence of our soul, our most inviolable sanctuary, and its secret can never be lost;

I have lost, within these last few days, a little bull-dog. He had just completed the sixth month of his brief existence. He had no history. His intelligent eyes opened to look out upon the world, to love mankind, then closed again on the cruel secrets of death.

When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough. If we always had smiled on the one who is gone, there would be no despair in our grief; and some sweetness would cling to our tears, reminiscent of virtues and happiness. For our recollections of veritable love—which indeed is the act of virtue containing all others—call from our eyes the same sweet, tender tears as those most beautiful hours wherein memory was born.

Do we know what it is that dies in our dead, or even if anything dies? Whatever our religious faith may be, there is at any rate one place where they cannot die. That place is within ourselves; and, if this unhappy mother went beyond the truth, she was yet nearer to it than those despairing ones who nourish the mournful certainty that nothing survives of those whom they loved. She felt too keenly what we do not feel keenly enough.

When I did 'Bumble-ardy ' I was so intensely aware of death. Eugene, my friend and partner, was dying here in the house when I did 'Bumble-ardy'. I did 'Bumble-ardy' to save myself. I did not want to die with him. I wanted to live, as any human being does.

I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more.

I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more...

Je regarde à travers mes pleurs. Ici la mort a pour voisine la croissance des palmiers nains : Ton corbillard, ô ma Delphine ! n'est qu'un oiseau des boulingrins. Quand je fus fatigué de larmes, las des voyages et malheurs, un coin de violettes de Parme avança le pied du Seigneur.

day from Gubla when she first noticed it missing.

In time I came to understand that out of the misery and murk of their lives the Russian people had learned to make sorrow a diversion, to play with it like a child's toy; seldom are they diffident about showing their happiness. And so, through their tedious weekdays, they made a carnival of grief; a fire is entertainment; and on a vacant face a bruise becomes an adornment.

Body my housemy horse my houndwhat will I dowhen you are fallenQuestion [1954], st. 1

Body my house my horse my hound What will I do when you are fallen Where will I sleep How will I ride What will I hunt Where can I go without my mount all eager and quick How will I know in thicket ahead is danger or treasure When Body my good bright dog is dead How will it be to lie in the sky without roof or door and wind for an eye with cloud for a shift how will I hide?

Body my house my horse my hound what will I do when you are fallen

I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life.

Before her, with sharp blue eyes and perfectly coiffed blond hair, was Josephine Marie Elizabeth Cavendish, Her Grace, the Duchess of Durham, widow of the fifth duke, and aunt to the Cavendish siblings. One did not call her Josie. Amelia had asked.

And what never happened always seems beautiful. You are a deception that gives birth to discontent, a deception that I cannot and do not wish to drive away, since it disarms me and protects me from suffering with a quiet grief.

I ni?eg ne bi bilo od ovog što me boli, ni Harunove smrti, ni ove no?i posljednje. A možda bi i bilo, jer neka no? mora biti posljednja, i nešto mora biti što boli, uvijek.

She reaches out her hand, plucks the boy's beating heart, and, weeping, eats it.

Looking at the shell of a young life, she always felt a stab in the heart. And in this job, grief didn't lurk—it swarmed. She now tried to dodge the creeping pain and analyze the scene with fresh eyes.

It might cause considerable surprise to the informed observer (who does not exist) to note that Mr B's eyes begin to fill with tears. They overflow and spill down along the deep soft creases of his careworn face as he sits very still in the centre of the unstill world and weeps rivers of salty water for all the lost souls, including his own.

Everyone simply had to wait patiently in order to lose the people they loved one by one, all the while acting as if they weren't waiting for that at all.

I guess I feel like grief is this huge part of everything," I say in a burst. "But you're supposed to act like it's not.