Quotes About Mourning

I've had to write a column an hour after I've come back from a funeral. A deadline is a deadline, I mean, that was just what my job was.

I sat in a room the color of egg yolk for two hours while the officer got my story down. The whole time I was thinking about Natalie going to autopsy, and how I would like to sneak in and put a fresh Band-Aid on her knee.

Flash of Marian, now bones in a coffin, a white satin ribbon wrapped around dried blonde curls, like some bouquet gone stale.

Nikt nie za?piewa pie?ni na nasz? cze??. Jeste?my ostatni? z Wolnych Kompanii z Khotovaru. Nasze tradycje i wspomnienia ?yj? wy??cznie w tych Kronikach. Jedynie my przywdziejemy ?a?ob? po sobie samych. Kompania przeciw ca?emu ?wiatu. Tak by?o i tak zawsze b?dzie.

She had lost all our memories for ever, and it was as though by dying she had robbed me of part of myself. I was losing my individuality. It was the first stage of my own death, the memories dropping off like gangrened limbs.

We shouldn't cross this place," I said. "A bad, sad place. It doesn't know it's dead.

You never wear red to no funeral; red says the dead person was a fool.

Karl was seventeen when Joseph dwindled away, and somebody told him that was Hamlet's age when his father died too.

At first, when we truly love someone, our greatest fear is that the loved one will stop loving us. What we should fear and dread, of course, is that we won't stop loving them, even after they're dead and gone.

Love unlived is a sin against life, and mourning is one of the ways we love. I felt it then, and I let it happen, the longing for him to return. The power in his eyes, and the pride when I did something he admired, and the love in his laugh. The longing: the longing for the lost.

Love unlived is a sin against life, and mourning is one of the ways we love.

And some things are just so sad that only your soul can do the crying for you.

The newly dead are ancestors, too. We respect the chain of life and love when we celebrate that life, not mourn the death. We all know that, and we all say it, when loved ones leave.

Nowhere probably is there more true feeling, and nowhere worse taste, than in a churchyard.

As a citizen of the post-historical variety, I am in continual mourning and prepared for worse.

Going through the grief period of my dad and losing him - that was the worst thing because you know when you get that call. When you are seven, eight years old, you have that almost vision in your mind of what that's going to be like and what your going to feel like and it doesn't prepare you.

To mourn and bewail your ill-fortune, when you will gain a tear from those who listen, this is worth the trouble.

Too many people I've loved dearly have left this earth. And some I've lost are still here breathing the same air. That grief can be comparable if not worse in its consumption.

I remember tearing up the first time I read Nabokov's description, in 'Speak, Memory,' of his father being tossed on a blanket by cheering muzhiks, with its astonishingly subtle foreshadowing of grief and mourning.

These funerals always appear to me the more indecent in a populous city, from the total indifference of the beholders, and the perfect unconcern with which they are beheld.

I don't remember much of my childhood. My father passed away when I was six, and sadly, I don't have the fuzziest, foggiest memory of him - what his voice was like, anything he ever said to me, nothing. My early years are a total blur.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer, so we ended up burying him a year to the day that he was diagnosed.

Four men killed that day. The phrase sat up in Willie's head like a rat and made a nest for itself there

Grief is about two years long, they say, it is a platitude out of manuals for grievers. But we are in mourning for our mothers before even we are born.