Quotes About Mourning

Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin, but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of festering, the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred for your enemies. Alphonse Frankenstein

We placed his remains under a cypress, the upright mountain being scooped out to receive them. And then Clara said, 'If you wish me to live, take me from hence. There is something in this scene of transcendent beauty, in these trees, and hills and waves, that for ever whisper to me, leave thy cumbrous flesh, and make a part of us. I earnestly entreat you to take me away.

cal que els que sobreviuen [a un mort] refrenin l'augment de l'afliccio que una immoderada demostració de pena podria dur (...)

It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed forever—that the brightness of a be- loved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard.

But is it not a duty to the survivors, that we should refrain from augmenting their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief?

Lo que uno siente hacia los muertos, pensó, se basa siempre en la imposibilidad de toda acción.

That was the first time I experienced the desperate orgiastic pleasure of this form of public mourning: it was the one place where people mingled and touched bodies and shared emotions without restraint or guilt. There was a wild, sexually flavored frenzy in the air. Later, when I saw a slogan by Khomeini saying that the Islamic Republic survives through its mourning ceremonies, I could testify to its truth.

I won't try to describe how deeply I mourn her passing still. I know that she was the kindest, most generous spirit I have ever known, and that what is best in me I owe to her.

On the hill behind her crows flew one by one into the bare trees, arranging their dark blots in the scrim of branches and adding their warnings to the drear sounds of this day. Gone, gone, they rasped. Here was a dead world learning to speak in dissonant, unbearable sounds.

He behaves as if he had no dead children. The real Leandro never comes here. He only pretends.

Had I not known that I was dead already I would have mourned my loss of life. —last words of Ota Dokan, scholar of military arts and poet, 1486

When his body was cremated

Little Timmy was digging a big hole in his backyard when the next-door neighbor looked over. "Why are you digging that huge hole?" he asked. "My ferret died," Little Timmy replied, throwing another shovel full of dirt over his shoulder. "But why are you making the hole so big?" the neighbor asked. "Because your dog ate it," Little Timmy replied.

We just came from the hospital where their mother died about an hour ago.

For a while, Mirabelle believes there will be a moment when he will cave in and let himself love her, but eventually she lets the idea go. She hits bottom. She dwells in the muck for several months, not depressed exactly, but involved in a mourning that at first she thinks is for Ray but soon realizes is for the loss of her old self.

If you saw her in these moments, you might think she was collecting her thoughts in order to go forward. But I see it another way: Her mind is being overwhelmed by two processes that must simultaneously proceed at full steam. One is to deal with and live in the present world. The other is to re-experience and mourn something that happened long ago. It is as though her lightness pulls her toward heaven, but the extra gravity around her keeps her earthbound.

Stanley Goldfarb died and his relatives and the congregation gathered for an evening of prayers and mourning. When the time came for the mourners to come up and eulogize him, no one stirred. After several minutes, the rabbi was getting anxious. "Someone must have something nice to say about him," he implored. More silence. Finally a voice piped up from the back of the room: "His brother was worse.

We do not want to lose our grief, because our grief is bound up with our love and we could not cease to mourn without being robbed of our affections.

I stood on the balcony dark with mourning... hoping the earth would spread its wings in my uninhabited love.

I think grieving is the same for everybody that lost someone you love deeply. It's the same. You know, you're really no different than anybody else who's lost somebody they adored.

Through the days of love and celebration and joy, and through the dark days of mourning...the faithful horse has been with us always.

When someone you love dies, you don't lose them all at once. You lose them in pieces over time, like how the mail stops coming.

The death then of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.

Isn't the most sensitive point of this mourning the fact that I must lose a language — the amorous language? No more 'I love you's.