Quotes About Grief

Grief hit like that. Something would remind us of the past, of home, of a person, and then we would remember that it was all gone. The person was dead or probably dead. Everything we'd known and treasured was gone.

Per me i cadaveri sono disgustosi. Puzzano e se sono lì da un po' sono pieni di vermi. Ma in fondo che cosa importa? Sono morti. Non soffrono più e se non ti piacevano quando erano vivi, perché turbarsi tanto ora che sono morti? Cory è rimasta sconvolta. Se la prende con me perché condivido il dolore dei vivi, ma lei cerca di condividerlo con i morti.

I get a lot of grief that doesn't belong to me, and that isn't real. But it hurts.

Anger always leaves a large void behind it, into which a flood of sorrow pours instantly, and keeps on flowing like a great river, without beginning or end.

One period of grief is followed by another, so I am in constant mourning. This is my natural state.

Her heart was bleeding for David Copperfield. Laurel never read David Copperfield when her mother was with her. Today the book, as usual, would be returned to its hiding place behind the cushion in the little parlor when she had finished with it.

Premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow.

No person should ever have to witness so much death,

If one could not bear the memory of the dead, then they must be shut out of memory. There was no other action anyone could take against the bafflement of grief.

When we lose people we love, we should never disturb their souls, whether living or dead. Instead, we should find consolation in an object that reminds you of them, something...I don't know...even an earring

Life is full of grief, to exactly the degree we allow ourselves to love other people.

Outrage is appropriate in response to genuine wrong, tears in response to grief, shock in response to unexpected disaster. We mustn't force ourselves to thank God for these things or we will be harder on ourselves and softer on evil than God is. It is not that even Christians need not give thanks for these things, but that Christians especially should not give thanks for them. We should always be as human as God made us.

Is it not true that no two human beings understand anything whatsoever about each other, that those who consider themselves bosom friends may be utterly mistaken about their fellow and, failing to realize this sad truth throughout a lifetime, weep when they read in the newspapers about his death?

Now even if I die, no one will be so grieved as to do himself bodily harm. No [...] I know just how much sadness my death will cause you. Undoubtedly you will weep when you learn the news--apart, of course, from such ornamental sentimentality as you may indulge in--but if you will please try to think of my joy at being liberated completely from the suffering of living and this hateful life itself, I believe that your sorrow will gradually dissolve.

If my neighbors manage to survive without killing themselves, without going mad, maintaining an interest in political parties, not yielding to despair, resolutely pursuing the fight for existence, can their griefs really be genuine?

Extremely tragic is a good description of you.

It was less the fact of Yoshiko's defilement than the defilement of her trust in people which became so persistent a source of grief as almost to render my life insupportable. [...] Yoshiko's immaculate trustfulness seemed clean an pure, like a waterfall among green leaves. One night sufficed to turn the waters of this pure cascade yellow and muddy. Yoshiko began from that night to fret over my every smile or frown.

I was plagued by a heavy sense of loss, as if my heart had become empty.

Ah, die Menschen, sie halten sich, obwohl sie sich nicht verstehen, obwohl sie ein völlig falsches Bild voneinander haben, ihr Leben lang für Busenfreunde und rezitieren, ohne je etwas bemerkt zu haben, einander noch am Grabe tränenreiche Abschiedsworte.

I had the feeling that were Mother to die, my own flesh would melt away with her.

I wept bitterly, crying aloud. I could have wept on and on, interminably.

That is precisely what I don't understand: if my neighbors manage to survive without killing themselves, without going mad, maintaining an interest in political parties, not yielding to despair, resolutely pursuing the fight for existence, can their griefs really be genuine? Am I wrong in thinking that these people have become such complete egoists and are so convinced that they have never once doubted themselves?

He was dead, that familiar, frightening presence who had never left my heart for a split second. I felt as though the vessel of my suffering had become empty, as if nothing could interest me now. I had lost even the ability to suffer.

Ah! Será que os seres humanos não entendem nada de seus próximos, veem os outros de forma completamente equivocada? E que, mesmo assim, sem se dar conta disso, elegem por toda a vida alguns como melhores amigos, e quando estes morrem, discursam aos prantos no seu funeral?