Quotes About Mourning

The sorrow was so large it threatened to tear through my skin. When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

When he was gone, would I be like Achilles, wailing over his lost lover Patroclus? I tried to picture myself running up and down the beaches, tearing at my hair, cradling some scrap of old tunic he had left behind. Crying out for the loss of half my soul. I could not see it. That knowledge brought its own sort of pain.

Priam's eyes find the other body, mine, lying on the bed. He hesitates a moment. 'That is --- your friend?' 'Philtatos,' Achilles says, sharply. Most beloved. 'Best of men, and slaughtered by your son.

Then the best part of him died, and he was even more difficult after that. [...] "What was his best part?" "His lover, Patroclus. He didn't like me much, but then the good ones never do. Achilles went mad when he died; nearly mad, anyway.

Achilles weeps. He craddles me, and will not eat, nor speak a word other than my name. I see his face as if through water, as a fish sees the sun. His tears fall, but I cannot wipe them away. This is my element now, the half-life of the unburied spirit.

He weeps as he lifts me into our bed. My corpse sags; it's warm in the tent, and the smell will come soon. He does not seem to care. He holds me all night long, pressing my cold hands to his mouth.

The room turned gray, then white. The bed felt cold without him, and too large. I heard no sounds, and the stillness frightened me. It is like a tomb. I rose and rubbed my limbs, slapped them awake, trying to ward off a rising hysteria. This is what it will be, every day, without him.

When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

FOR THE FIRST TIME since my death, he falls into a fitful, trembling sleep. Achilles. I cannot bear to see you grieving. His limbs twitch and shudder. Give us both peace. Burn me and bury me. I will wait for you among the shades. I will— But already he is waking. "Patroclus! Wait! I am here!" He shakes the body beside him. When I do not answer, he weeps again.

And perhaps, it is the greatest grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone Do you think? Perhaps, Achilles admitted

Children lack empathy about how the adults around them feel. Children have a tendency toward self-involvement which makes them give too much weight to trivia, too little weight to significant things. If the house burns down, the charred sister and the charred kitten are equally mourned.

funeral services took place with the casket open, so that the mourners were required to view the deceased while great things were said about him. It was an odd custom, one aimed at making the moment far more dramatic than necessary.

Catherine wore a long black silk dress. The court was still in mourning for the dead king

His two infant sons had died the previous year

There is at least one terrible thing about lovers – real lovers, I mean: people who are in love with each other, even then they will relish their every physical contact in a sexual way; even when they're supposed to be in a kind of mourning, they can get aroused. Franny and I simply couldn't have gone on holding each other on the stairs: it was impossible to touch each other, at all, and not want to touch everything.

You write about when it's safe for a widow to re-enter the world, but there is no such thing as a widow for one year. I will be a widow for the rest of my life!

I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving.

I could not escape a feeling that this was my own funeral, and you do not cry in that case.

When Angelo tugged these boots on this morning, tightened and tied the laces, he had no inkling they would be his funeral wear.

Everybody loves you when you're six foot in the ground.

Donohue's family operated a funeral home: "We had caskets stacked up outside the funeral home. We had to have guards kept on them because people were stealing the caskets. . . . You'd equate that to grave robbing." There were soon no caskets left to steal. Louise Apuchase remembered most vividly the lack of coffins: "A neighbor boy about seven or eight died and they used to just pick you up and wrap you up in a sheet and put you in a patrol wagon.

In its wake followed a keening sound that rose from the throats of mourners like the wind.

No, it's not a 'corpse thing.' I feel I lack the emotional capacity to deal with those in mourning.

Holy Saturday is the time to remember family and the faithful who have died as we await the Resurrection, or to honour the martyrs who have given their lives to the cause of Christ in the world. Holy Saturday is a time for reflection and waiting, a time of weeping that lasts for the night while awaiting the joy that comes at Easter.