Quotes About Mourning

I didn't go to the funeral of poetry. I stayed home and watched it on television.

Only the lame could love and only the maimed could mourn

Je suis le ténébreux, — le veuf, — l'inconsolé, Le prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie : Ma seule étoile est morte, — et mon luth constellé Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie." "I am the Dark One, – the Widower, – the Unconsoled The Aquitaine Prince whose Tower is destroyed: My only star is dead,- and my constellated lute Bears the black Sun of Melancholia.

But my partner died, and now I detest my work, and I have been blue. More than blue really. I have been in the depths of despair. My grandfather, Fred, who I adored, recently died. It begins to seem to me that life is little more than a series of losses, and as you must know by now, I hate losing. And I suppose I came to Friendship because I no longer wished to be in the place I lived and sometimes I no longer wished to even be in my body.

It's and old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.

IT'S AN OLD, OLD STORY: I HAD A FRIEND AND WE shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.

I knew the sense of integrity I had long admired in him had died, and that I was already grieving for its loss.

Mourn, ye Graces and Loves, and all you whom the Graces love. My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow, my lady's pet.

That night, [Black Dog] lay beside Henry, and he stroked her sharp shoulder blades and scratched behind her ears. He did this late into the night as he listened to the low and terrible moans that swept through the hallways of the house and that were not from the lonely wind but from his lonely mother, who had lost her oldest child and would never have him back again.

It can be shattering when these creatures die.

Although one's friends and family will gather for support in the event of a human death, those who grieve for a pet will most likely go home at night to a house that feels empty and abandoned.

The small objects belonging to the dead became part of the household. I did not feel that it was theft as their owners hadn't really gone away.

I had a feeling of hopelessness, grief, and a sense of emptiness, and even if I knew the body to be dead I felt that the personality was still within, aware and listening to me.

they had lived, they'd lived intensely. But no matter how deeply you live, it comes to this in the end: one of you will be gone and the other will be in mourning.

Stop your weeping. Grief is for the dead.

You killed my Booka," she hissed. "I loved my Booka.

the grief associated with bereavement is one of the most profound of all human emotions—and one of the most lethal.

We no longer have death in our culture: the dead become abstractions, statistics, companies will take charge of the relationship that we can have to our own dead. In 2, 3 days the cremation is done, we can forget, the question is settled and the dead is only a memory. This is problematic, because we risk falling first into what Freud calls melancholy, that is to say the impossibility of mourning because we no longer have an object to mourn.

Tears came to him. He wept quietly, holding nothing back. He mourned mankind, and the blindness of men, who thought that the Kosmos had rules that would shelter them from their own freedom. There were no shelters. There were no final purposes. Futility, and freedom, were Absolute.

Stephen Colbert still mourns. "Grief," he said, "will always accept the invitation to appear. It's got plenty of time for you.

how it is that we still refuse to be comforted for those who we nevertheless maintain are dwelling in unspeakable bliss; why all the living so strive to hush all the dead; wherefore but the rumor of a knocking in a tomb will terrify a whole city. All these things are not without their meanings.

upon the tarnished head-boards, nearby, appeared, in stately capitals, once gilt, the ship's name, SAN DOMINICK, each letter streakingly corroded with tricklings of copper-spike rust; while, like mourning weeds, dark festoons of sea-grass slimily swept to and fro over the name, with every hearse-like roll of the hull.

Dans la cour de l'hôpital éclairée par ce soleil de juin qui devenait la pire injure au malheur, je compris, pour la première fois car quand Stéphane l'avait dit je n'avais pas voulu le croire, que Muzil allait mourir, incessament sous peu, et cette certitude me défigura dans le regard des passants qui me croisaient, ma face en bouille s'écoulait dans mes pleurs et volait en morceaux dans mes cris, j'étais fou de douleur, j'étais le Cri de Munch.

And overpowered by memory Both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely For man - killing Hector, throbbing, crouching Before Achilles' feet as Achilles wept himself, Now for his father, now for Patroclus once again And their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.