Quotes About Grief

All the world is bitter as a tear

Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance, fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell; Strength without hands to smite; Love that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of light, And Life, the shadow of death.

For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

can't bear it, he said. It is like your mother has become a dwarf and as if her dwarf self is always twinkling away in all the corners of the house and the yard, always in the corner of my eye. I shrugged.

Everyone who'd lost something of crucial importance wished he or she could go back to the moment when it was still theirs. The wish was so powerful it seemed it might reverse the direction of time. It bore apparitions and ghosts.

My grief was cold. It was nothing to share. It was nothing to speak about, nothing to feel.

A young couple — bride eighteen, man twenty-two — came here for their honeymoon. The day after the wedding, he was found to have scarlet fever, and in two days he was dead. How cruel it is when pain and sorrow come to young things, — they are so helpless; what can they do with it? What a rush of desire to go to them and wrap them about in one's long-accustomedness until the little bewildered soul has woven for itself some sort of casing.

Fairness demanded that grief should find succor, that wounds should heal, insult and confusion find recompense and certainty, that every living person God had made should not, willy-nilly, be forever unmade.

Because if she let go of her grief even for a minute it would only hit her harder when she bumped into it again.

I want to know why my loves had to die.

Hurts so—That's just loss. This hole within—

I cried in the kitchen, his death was stupid at such a young age.

And my love. Which is visible here in death . . . it's part of what you're left with when you die.

with the same old grief as mine is it mine am I home oh how much life not my own have I buttered and eaten

as soon as the grief as soon as a ghost begins to shake me from the inside

this is the the sound this is the very floor where Grief and his Wife are living looking up

it makes me shiver like a dead soldier returning his empty clothes to his bride but she's married someone else

Sometimes you cry, Susie, even when someone you love has been gone a long time.

My name is Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered.

Loss could be used as a measure of beauty in a woman.

I can be almost terminally grief-stricken because things are so dire, but at the same time, there's a real lightheartedness about just the recoverability of life, of how things change, how they're not the same, ever again.

A brain injury is a particularly hard injury to have because it changes who you are in ways that other injuries don't, since it affects how you think, act, and respond. It's hard to talk about that loss and grief with people who have never experienced it.

There must have been a problem, we offer. God must have something even better around the corner, we propose. Must He? Here, then is my Lenten plea for the day: let the mourning mourn. Grant those who grieve the dignity to ask questions. Bestow upon the bewildered permission to not edit their honesty. Crucifixion is, after all, serious work.

Lent is a much-needed mentor in an age obsessed with visible, measurable, manageable, and tweetable increase, for it invites us to walk with Jesus and His disciples through darker seasons that we would rather avoid: grief, conflict, misunderstanding, betrayal, restriction, rejection, and pain. Then Easter leads us in celebration of salvation as the stunningly satisfying fruit of Jesus' sacred decrease.