Quotes About Mourning

We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes.

Alex allowed herself the space of three heartbeats to grieve. I could count them, because that gross muscle between Pottery Barn's hands was still beating.

of the debacle over Fox Corner when Sylvie died

white lilies, the kind you would give to a bride or a corpse.

Ursula found herself dwelling on Hugh's death, his absence more than his death.

There was a stiff bell-pull instead of a doorbell that Teddy had to yank hard for any result. They could hear a faint ringing somewhere beyond the fortress-like front door. No footsteps of anyone rushing to open it. It was a house in mourning, Teddy supposed.

Poetry was nothing but words to say over a grave, something to throw into a hole in the ground.

they were all so clearly portraits of the kind of girl who should be mourned, who should be missed given her do-goodness, her smile, her kindness toward others, and not portraits of any actual girl I knew.

Death always leaves one singer to mourn.

Humans have no monopoly on grief. Dolphins carry their dead on their backs for days. Giraffes refuse to eat. Elephants cry. Whit carried the dead on his back for years. For life. I'll carry him on my flightless wings always.

Death bears with it a stain that seeps into the hollow and fills the mind.

When Salter was fifty-five, his twenty-five-year-old daughter, Allan, died in an electrical accident. She was in the shower in a cabin next door to his in Aspen. He walked in and found her lying naked on the floor, the water running. He carried her dead body in his arms. He took her outside and tried to resuscitate her, somehow thinking she was drowning. We do not talk about this. He says only, "There was the wreckage of that.

Dearly departed, scarcely lamented, deeply demented...

A million people lined the route, according to the television commentary. The coffin was taken from the White House to St. Matthew's Cathedral, where there was a mass. At twelve noon there was a five-minute silence, and traffic stopped all over America. The cameras showed crowds standing silent on city streets.

Grief remains one of the few things that has the power to silence us.

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,Never, never, never, never, never!Pray you, undo this button.

Come away, come away, death,And in sad cypress let me be laid;Fly away, fly away, breath;I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

Hector is dead; there is no more to say.

Only the debris of wreckage, and not much of that, was left behind by the sharks who fed on tragedy: the fishermen, too, mourned the death of a living child.

Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.