Quotes About Grief

Her absence was still so loud and so heavy, I ached with it, feeling hollow and lost. I didn't know how to forget my mother any more than my father knew how he might comfort me.

we never survive them, or anyone we love. Not in the

My mother in that awful parking lot, dead on Christmas Day. Jenny's murder and Eden's cancer. Hap's disappearance. My daughter's accident. The dark abyss of my work and how it connects in an awful and yawning way to everything else.

C'mon, Anna. You don't mean that. It's too soon. You should only be thinking about your family right now, and taking care of yourself.

A woman is like whiskey. She evaporates a little over time, distilled by disappointments and grief. One can never predict if the angels will take the best of her or the worst. Only time will tell is the woman that remains will be bitter, dispirited or aged to perfection..

Llorad de gozo, pues ella se ha hecho dueña del Horizonte! Había una nota triunfal en su cántico, y también un pesar más profundo que el que podían experimentar los demás. Cuando los otros respondieron: «¡Vive; ella vive para siempre!», Hatshepsut rompió a llorar. Sintió entonces que el inmenso puño de su

They ooze blood out of their wounds and live inside their regret.

Please don't die," she whispered. "I don't think I can bury you. I already buried everyone else." "How can I die," Alexander said, his voice breaking, "when you have poured your immortal blood into me?

grieving is the beginning of your self discovery

Seanabhean is ea mise anois go bhfuil cos léi insan uaigh is an chos eile ar a bruach. Is mó bogradh is cruatan curtha agam díom ón gcéad lá do saolaíodh me go dtí an lá atá inniu ann. Dá mbeadh 'fhios agam go mbeadh a leath, ná a thrian, i ndán dom ní bheadh mo chroí ná m'intinn chomh haerach ná chomh misníúil is do bhí i dtosach mo shaoil.

Dead indeed is the heart from which the balmy air of the sea cannot banish sorrow and grief.

crying not in grief but in wonder that nothing is ever lost, that everything can be retrieved, that a lifetime is not linear but instant. That, inside the head, everything happens at once.

I told him that my father was dead and that to take her mind off it I had told my mother that I was pregnant. I said it had taken her mind off it wonderfully, so far; and that it also happened to be true.

Rafferty gripped his brother's shoulder and pushed him in the direction of his wife. She was rolling on the fresh-turned earth of Charlie's grave now, and her cries were no longer human. "Go hold her. Go on, even if she fights you, but, dammit, hold her." Go on, brother, before I do, because if I do, you ain't ever getting her back .

I failed him. He needed me and I failed him. God, Roger, how am I going to bear this, what am I going to do?

and I grew up with no one. Except my grandmother. And even she died.

A dead dog is more quiet than a house on the steppes, a chair in a empty room.

Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone,But grief returns with the revolving year.

I weep for Adonais [John Keats]—he is dead!Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tearsThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

Alas! that all we loved of him should be,But for our grief, as if it had not been,And grief itself be mortal!

Rough wind, that moanest loudGrief too sad for songWild wind, when sullen cloudKnells all the night longSad storm, whose tears are vain,Bare woods, whose branches strain,Deep caves and dreary main, - Wail, for the world's wrong

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

And in a mad trance Strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings We decay Like corpses in a charnel Fear & Grief Convulse is & consume us Day by day And cold hopes swarm Like worms within Our living clay

Oh, weep for Adonais—he is dead! Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; For he is gone, where all things wise and fair Descend—oh, dream not that the amorous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.