Quotes About Grief

Jules Michaels won't be attending Julliard 'cause she died.

She didnt know that i was dead inside, that i had ruled out the chance of joy ever again. For that night and every night to follow. I had fully settled into my unhappiness and wore it comfortably

I was so blue that I felt I'd turned black inside.

O'Captain, My Captain.

Everyone loses faith at some point. Take me for example. I haven't spoken to God since your mother died... But sometimes, you have to stop and remember all the things you do have. You've got to be thankful.

I had a vision of you, the first time I stepped into Grey House, the night Edward died. That was why I kept staring at you while he lay on the bed, convulsing between us. I had seen you standing before me, your hand in mine. I could not hear what was said between us, but there was a sense of belonging to you, as if I had always known you somehow, and you had been waiting for me. It came as rather a nasty shock to realise you were already married.

Why? Death is part of life, child. It is not the end. It is not even the middle. It is merely a doorway. Alice is no further away from me than if she had stepped into the next room.

If you were a man, your ladyship, I would cordially horsewhip you for that remark. As you are not, I will simply bid you farewell and leave you to your fresh and obviously debilitating grief.' He said this last with a contemptuous glance at the Italian books piled on my desk and strode from the room.

Mourning is a bitch. And it's a process. You're just not finished with it." "That's the point," she said. "I think I am. At least I want to be. I am so sick and tired of waking up feeling like someone tore off one of my limbs. Every morning, for just a few seconds, I forget. I wake up and it hasn't happened yet. There's nothing but emptiness and calm. And then it comes crashing down and I hate it. I hate it so much.

The case has been put to rest now. John is buried, and whatever was left of my reputation has been salvaged," he said, his voice oddly soft. "Thank you for that. You fight harder for me than you would ever do for yourself. Why?

Death is part of life, child. It is not the end. It is not even the middle. It is merely a doorway. Alice is no further away from me than if she had stepped into the next room.

I stared down into the opengrave and wished that I could summon a tear. Violent weeping would have been in exceedingly poor taste, but Miss Nell Harbottle had been my guardian for the whole of my life, and a tear of two would have been a nice gesture of respect

Rejection, though--it could make the loss of someone you weren't even that crazy about feel gut wrenching and world ending.

Grief is everywhere. It's its own being. It walks beside you silently, jumps out at you meanly, pokes you awake at night. It makes tears roll down your cheeks at a blue sky.

This is not to say I don't feel my own grief, which can hit powerfully at unexpected times. It's just that the telling does not automatically bring on my own upset, as people assume. I deal more with their reaction than they do with mine, and so you have to choose your timing.

There's grief and then there's the loneliness of grief. The way it's just yours and yours alone.

There was no question that it was a necessary divorce, but that didn't make it less painful. You don't think it will hurt, leaving a marriage like that, do you? But it's the same misguided thinking that makes people ask, after your mother dies, how old she was. If she was ninety, the bereavement isn't supposed to be as crushing. But of course it is. Of course. There's no equation for loss.

Grief is everywhere. It's its own being. It walks beside you silently, jumps out at you meanly; pokes you awake at night.

He's not coming back. Maybe I do know this after all. Goodbye. I say to him in my head. I say it tenderly. I try to tell him with that one word how sorry I am.

Something has happened to her and about her, and yet it is hard to grasp this fact. Her run is larger than her, and yet her daily life is mostly just her solitary steps, the rhythm of them, her daily aches, her loneliness, and the flashes of the nightmares that she experiences daily. It seems that she's become a person with a message, but she's unclear what the message is. Maybe because the message is still fighting its way through the grief and guilt to get to her.

Grief, we know where we've been. We know where we want to be.

On grief. We know where we've been. We know where we want to be.

It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness.

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...