Quotes About Mourning

To such an extent was this disease that for those who know that Quasimodo has existed, Notre-Dame is to-day deserted, inanimate, dead. One feels that something has disappeared from it. That immense body is empty; it is a skeleton; the spirit has quitted it, one sees its place and that is all. It is like a skull which still has holes for the eyes, but no longer sight.

Quelle minute funèbre que celle où la société s'éloigne et consomme l'irréparable abandon d'un être pensant !

Lost. It makes it sound as if I misplaced my loved ones; perhaps I left them where they don't belong and then turned away, too confused to retrace my steps. They are not lost. Nor are they in a better place. They are gone. As I approach the end of my years, I know that grief, like regret, settles into our DNA and remains forever a part of us.

They are not lost. Nor are they in a better place. They are gone. As I approach the end of my years, I know that grief, like regret, settles into our DNA and remains forever a part of us.

In the last few moments before dawn, Vianne sat near the mound of fresh-turned earth. She wanted to pray, but her faith felt far away, the remnant of another woman's life.

She saw how death impacted people, saw the glazed look in their eyes, the way they shook their heads, the way their sentences broke in half as if they couldn't decide if silence or words would release them from sorrow.

She knew about death, about the grief that ripped you apart and left you broken forever.

She saw how death impacted people, saw the glazed look in their eyes, the way they shook their heads, the way their sentences broke in half as if they couldn't decide is silence or words would release them from sorrow.

I heard people say that when you lose someone you love, they keep thinking they see him. Like when a stranger walks by, they'll do a double take to make sure it's not him. They'll hear his voice in a cafe only to realize that what they heard was the sound of some baritone DJ on the radio.

People lament for their losses because it´s easier mourn for the past than avoid them in present.

Les mille ans du Moyen-âge ont été la durée du grand deuil Chrétien.

Now winds are wild, and sere leaves fall; A dying glory mantles all; I sit and watch the tears of rain Steal slowly down the window-pane. The wailing of the Autumn blast Stirs many a dead leaf of the Past Within my soul; I seem to hear The wan lips of the dying year, Mournfully, oh, mournfully, Chant a low, sad melody!

In the darkness behind their shut lids they all saw the same thing: no color at all, only loss like a hole torn in the world.

He'd had to watch Madrigal die, and he hadn't understood the fervor - the ecstasy - of the crowd. He hadn't understood why the only one who mourned her was the enemy, driven to his knees and bloody from torture.

She was all dark-eyed intensity. Something was lost in her. Karou saw it and mourned. War does that, nothing for it. Reality lays siege. Your framed portrait of life is smashed, and a new one thrust upon you. Its ugly, and you don't even want to look at it , let alone hang it on the wall, but you have no choice.

I know about parabatai," said Magnus, an angry, dark undercurrent to his voice. "I've known parabatai so close they were almost the same person; do you know what happens, when one of them dies, to the one that's left —?

Oh God." said Magnus, "they're dead. They're all dead!

At last he reached out and with a gentle hand, closed Valentine's eyes. " Ave atque vale , Shadowhunter," he said.

As Luke knelt down beside his corpse, Clary couldn't help but remember what he had said about having loved Valentine once, about having been his closest friend. Luke, she thought with a pang. Surely he couldn't be sad — or even grieved? But then again, perhaps everyone should have someone to grieve for them, and there was no one else to grieve for Valentine.

Magnus had learned to be careful about giving his memories with his heart. When people died, it felt like all the pieces of yourself you had given to them went as well. It took so long, building yourself back up until you were whole again, and you were never entirely the same.

Funerals are always so sad," said a woman who had introduced herself as Irina Cartwright, staring at Julian with a deep pitying stare. When he didn't respond, she shifted her gaze to Kit. "Don't you think?" "I wouldn't know," said Kit. "My father was eaten by demons.

Oh, God," Magnus said. "They're dead. They're all dead.

Another practice which also persisted for centuries was that of 'telling the bees' when a death had occurred in the family. If this was neglected, it was feared they would abandon their hives, never to return.

Grave clothes were part of a young woman's trousseau. These grim garments were sewn in the knowledge that they might be needed. For the same reason, a potential bride habitually prepared at least one set of burial clothes for any child she might bear. Babies dying within a month of baptism were buried in their baptismal robes and swaddling bands. Children were often elaborately dressed.