Quotes About Mourning

Settled on the carriage seat, Olivia drew in a deep breath, the first in what felt like five years. she knew it was wrong, what she was feeling. Because of widow of only a week shouldn't wish to dance a jig. But God help her, that's precisely what part of her wanted to do. Not on the grave of her recently deceased husband, of course-that would be considered rude. Just off to the side would suffice.

Few deaths can match the refined agony of being the one left behind

Outlines of dead logs I hauled away remained impressed on the damp earth, scarring the ground with their funereal shapes.

start her gradual return to society. Black gowns gave way to grey, mauve, and lavender, and could now be made from silk instead of crape or bombazine. To alert the members of her circle that she was ready to face society, a widow would leave calling cards at the houses of her acquaintances. She would begin to accept more invitations, always being careful only to attend events that were not too joyful and to behave in ways respectful of the memory of her husband

heartless wife who, instead of being grieved at the death of her husband, is rejoiced at it, should be taught that society will not respect her unless she pays to the memory of the man whose name she bears that "homage which vice pays to virtue," a commendable respect to the usages of society in the matter of mourning and of retirement from the world.

Once she entered the period of half-mourning, the widow would

Roy, I know that we had a choice, but really, we didn't have a choice. I mourned as though I had miscarried. My body apparently was fertile soil, but my life was not. You may feel that you're carrying a burden, but I shoulder a load as well. So now you know. We are bearing two different crosses.

But I recognized them by the ambition that clung to their skins like spicy cologne, the slight breeze of power that stirred the air, and finally, a mourning that left my mouth tasting of ash.

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd":

In my hometown of New Orleans, grief is a public spectacle that, somewhat paradoxically, necessitates celebration. The dead are not mourned so much as they are posthumously venerated with music and dance.

New Orleans taught me that mourning takes many different forms. Where I'm from, mourning is spirited. It is loud.

After Balasaheb died, I have not spoken. What do I say?

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

Repentance lifts a man up. Mourning knocks at heaven's gate. Holy humility opens it.

The holier a man becomes, the more he mourns over the unholiness which remains in him.

Man, when he does not grieve, hardly exists.

That, as far as she could tell, was the purpose of the religion she had been brought up in: it made people feel better when really horrible things happened, and it offered a repertoire of ceremonies that were used to add a touch of class to such goings-on as shacking up with someone and throwing dirt on a corpse. None of which especially bothered Zula or made her doubt its worthwhileness. Making sad people feel better was a fine thing to do.

In Memoriam, Louis Anglesey, Earl of Upnor, finest swordsman in England, beaten to death with a stick by an Irishman.' " Teague considered it for a moment, then nodded. "In Connaught," he added. "In Connaught," Bob agreed, then eyed the ditch.

In Memoriam, Louis Anglesey, Earl of Upnor, finest swordsman in England, beaten to death with a stick by an Irishman.

You remember the footprint All that is forgotten you remember from eternity You remember the footprint which filled with death As the myrmidon approached. You remember the child's trembling lips As they had to learn their farewell to their mother. You remember the mother's hands which scooped out a grave For the child which had starved at her breast. You remember the mindless words That a bride spoke into the air to her dead bridegroom.

Me, Mia. Mama mia, Mia. Otis is rigor mortis.

And then, Monsieur votre fils, he was well too? Well, they had to know. He turned away from her blindly. 'Madame,' he said, 'mon fils est mort. Il est tombé de son avion, au-dessus de Heligoland Bight.

And I'd be struck a new by the finality of Ruth's absence.

I don't mourn the dead. I mourn the living.