Quotes About Mourning

the cemetery is the home of those who are not here, come in.

Grief does not always come out in tears.

And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.

For a split second, I realize completely and absolutely that the season of winter is sentient, that there is an intelligence behind it. There's a tremendous amount of emotional pain that comes with the magick of winter, but I still mourn when the season ends, like I'm losing my best friend.

A curious scene, this low-key festivity just a day after Ma has died, but on the other hand people have to eat, life goes on. They'll be drinking and making bawdy jokes soon after you go too.

You have to make them look peaceful. That's what the family wants to see, that their loved one is at peace.

Aleuton sat back and sighed. 'Eight days ago. They're getting hammered. Twenty-two engines, that's all Macaroth allowed us to keep here as a standing defence. The enemy has at least seven times that power.' He reached over and picked up a sheaf of black-edged papers. 'You see these? Death notices. Eight of them. Eight engines dead. What does that tell you?

This was what real grief felt like—she had never truly felt it before. All the times she had been sad, all the times she had wept in her life, all the glooms and melancholies were merely moods, mere passing whims. Grief was a different thing altogether.

they did," murmured Amanda, remembering anew the horrible night she learned of the carriage accident that had instantly killed her father and mother. As an only child, Amanda had had to deal with all the arrangements for the funeral with only her two aunts,

It's very difficult to give up on things we can't control. And that's what a divorce represents. It represents the ultimate loss of control, a marriage and a mate we can't control. And if we give up on the mate and the marriage, by acknowledging that loss, we can free ourselves of the anger and resentment - and that will liberate our children. Finally, children are not affected by our grief and mourning. They are affected by our inability to grieve and mourn.

Who elected Larry King America's grief counselor? We, the viewing public, did, by driving up his ratings whenever somebody famous passes.

A mourning dove's beauty is an understated one: the colors of its feathers ranging through various shades of gray and drab violet, often with a striking splash of turquoise around the eyes.

Virtually every civilized society today holds sacred the right to peaceably bury their dead.

If we no longer feel, we should be grieving our own deaths.

Are people really supposed to be done grieving after two months? Can't grief last six months or a year or, in some form or another, an entire lifetime?

This bereavement exclusion no longer exists, partly because of the timeline: Are people really supposed to be done grieving after two months? Can't grief last six months or a year or, in some form or another, an entire lifetime?

It was only out on the cold street...that Riley began to feel the full loss of his father. Poppa, he thought, Oh Poppa. He'd grieved him since Christmas when he first took ill...but it was here now, an empty place where once had been Poppa. A quietness to replace Poppa's good voice. A gust of wind that said he was there, not on earth, but in the air. Riley knew he would not be the same man again, for Riley had been Poppa's son and was now only his survivor.

It hurts to cry," she said, her voice raspy. "It hurts worse not to." "Did you cry?" "For four days straight." "Is that how long it took you to bury them?" "Yes, ma'am," he said in a voice that sounded like stone grating against stone.

There are times," I declared, "when I believe the dead haunt us because we love them too little. We forget them, you see; we don't mean to, but we do.

When dad told me Mr Steptoe had passed away, I broke down.

A house you can rebuild; a bridge you can restring; a washed-out road you can fill in. But there is nothing you can do about a tree but mourn.

The morning after their deaths, Armand had gone into their room. The scent of them, the sense of them, almost too much to bear. The clothing. The book. The bookmark. The bedside clock, still ticking. He'd thought that strange. Surely it should have stopped.

Clara knew that grief took a terrible toll. It was paid at every birthday, every holiday, each Christmas. It was paid when glimpsing the familiar handwriting, or a hat, or a balled-up sock. Or hearing a creak that could have been, should have been, a footstep. Grief took its toll each morning, each evening, every noon hour as those who were left behind struggled forward.

But they, better than most, knew that no place was really safe from physical harm. Anything could happen to anyone, at any moment. What made a place safe were the people. The caring. The kindness. The helping. Sometimes the mourning. And often the forgiveness.