Best 330 of Death of a loved one quotes - MyQuotes
Frances reflecting on sudden death of husband: It made her wish that humans could write the script for their own endings, so that they could be approached with grace and preparedness , like wedding anniversaries and christenings.
Never take life for granted. Savor every sunrise, because no one is promised tomorrow…or even the rest of today.
I sensed that he was dead, but wasn't sure if death was forever. It seemed best to stay nearby, in case the chance came to make everything changed.
Emma hoped Ty was unconscious, she hoped he was seeing none of this. He would wake up eventually, and the horror of what he would wake up to drove her forward.
It was a fact that had become the focus of my entire life, a whisper in my heartbeat, a permanent, insidious presence that punctuated my every breath. I couldn’t escape it, that persistent voice, lingering in the blood pulsing through my veins. It said only one thing, over and over, a repetition of inescapable anguish, the knowledge of a thing that could never be undone. James is dead. James is dead. James is dead. James is dead.
When people die,' she said softly, 'It doesn't necessarily mean you're ready to give them up.
El doctor se inclinó muy cerca para oírlo, porque la voz era solo un murmullo.«Busque a Violette, dígale que la amo»,agregó Étiene Relais antes de que el otro le vaciara un frasquito en la boca. En Cuba, en ese mismo instante, Violette Boisier se golpeó la mano derecha contra la fuente de piedra donde había ido a buscar agua y el ópalo del anillo, que había usado por catorce años, se hizotrizas. Cayó sentada junto a la fuente, con un grito atascado y la mano apretada en el corazón. Adèle, que estaba con ella, creyó que la había mordido un alacrán. «Étienne, Étienne...», balbuceó Violette deshecha en lágrimas.
We sit in silence, drinking hot chocolate and contemplating the act that death is a monstrous affront to the living and shouldn't be allowed.
When we do not know our heart’s reason Perhaps living inside the cell of its prison Is the best way to breathe for the life of love With tears of the void from a distance above
I miss him every day. More than anyone, I think. He’s the big hole in my life, in the middle of my soul. Or maybe he was just the beginning of it. I don’t know. I don’t even know whether all this is really about Ben, or whether it’s about everything that happened after that, and everything that’s happened since. All I know is, one minute I’m ticking along fine and life is sweet and I want for nothing, and the next I can’t wait to get away, I’m all over the place, slipping and sliding again.
Lucy Maud Montgomery
Mrs. Allan's face was not the face of the girlbride whom the minister had brought to Avonlea five years before. It had lost some of its bloom and youthful curves, and there were fine, patient lines about eyes and mouth. A tiny grave in that very cemetery accounted for some of them; and some new ones had come during the recent illness, now happily over, of her little son. But Mrs. Allan's dimples were as sweet and sudden as ever, her eyes as clear and bright and true; and what her face lacked of girlish beauty was now more than atoned for in added tenderness and strength.
Until she had had children of her own she had not been able to contemplate the death of either of her parents; when the subject had arisen, in conversation or in her own imagining, she had said only: I just don't know what I'd do.
When you lose someone untimely; all left is never ending guilt, fear, and pain.
Lucy Maud Montgomery
At sunset the little soul that had come with the dawning went away, leaving heartbreak behind it
Birthdays;They never cease to exist, and like birthdays you will never cease to exist in my heart
Deep down inside we always seek for our departed loved ones
When Death laughs, no one else does
Fate did not grant him the privilege to see our children reach adulthood or the pleasure to witness our wrinkles writing stories on our faces, but in the time we were allowed, we knew our treasures.
Dreams, just dreams, it's all illusion
And then I feel guilty, because I know all these offers are made in vain. I know I cannot get my mother back healthy for a day. ... My mom is sick, sick and dying, and no bargaining will change that. And it's in all the books, bargaining, which makes me embarrassed. Look at me grieving my textbook grief. - 150
Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room.
A dying girl. A pining boy. And a whole lot of robbed years.
Das Leben geht weiter. Manchmal fragte ich mich, ob diese Tatsache nicht das Grausamste an unserem Dasein ist. Nicht der Tod und die ihm vorausgehenden Schmerzen, sondern der Fakt, dass ganz gleich, welche Schicksalschläge das Leben für uns bereithält, die Uhren niemals innehalten. Nicht einmal für einen Wimpernschlag. Dabei hat das Universum doch alle Zeit der Welt. Wäre der Unfalltod eines Menschen nicht viel einfacher zu ertragen, wenn sämtliche Autos für einen Moment stehen blieben? Wenn die Wellen, die das Kind ertränkten, nicht mehr rauschten? Nur für eine kurze Zeit, wenigstens die Trauerfeier über, bis der Sarg sich in das Grab gesenkt hätte. Wird uns die Bedeutungslosigkeit unseres Daseins nicht alleine dadurch gewiss gemacht, dass wir neben dem Totenbett eines geliebten Menschen im Krankenhaus stehen und gleichzeitig vor den Fenstern das Lachen spielender Kinder im Park hören könnten? Das Leben geht immer weiter. Immer.
I destroyed that doll, hoping the sacrifice would somehow reverse time and bring my father back. I was a mad scientist and an angry child.
Only one person in the room didn't cry that day and it was the man hunched on a chair, singing passionately from the darkest corners of his soul.
I had heard the nails being driven into the nails of her coffin, but I couldn't adjust to the fact that she had returned to nothingness.
It's more like she left some of herself behind in the walls and the floors and the books, like there's something she wants to tell me.
You're too damn beautiful for your own good.Hell,you're too damn beautiful for my own good
Mama wasn't dead...exactly. They all said she was, but when Elma was small, she seen Mama creep into her room at night, half-naked, head all bloodied red like when they found her by the well that day, and Elma reckoned dead just meant pretendin' you couldn't move or breathe until nightfall when you got up and walked around like you was free.
I wait and pray and hope I will look forward to each brand new day thankful for all that I've had and will always have thankful for the sun that shines again believing and hanging on believing that life will go on it can't help but go on it shall go on and in so going there really is no end only mornings and evenings and life that never ever ends.
The death of someone is like reading a book, yet having it end, where it wasn't supposed to.
Where did my friend go? Was there a place they all gathered, the lost and self destructive? Was there a room they put them in? Necks burnt with rope or holes in their skulls. Beach-water bloated. I will know this at the end of my conversation with life. I will speak and laugh until my tongue falls out and then I will know this. I will know because he will tell me when I see him. How will I enter the theatre? With a hole in my head or exploded by sea. Wrists.
the deceased don’t want you to forget about them. They just want you to move past it; not to dwell on it. Remember how we live, not how we died.
Three years earlier her father had been buried (irritable and impatient as he always had been) in the Fladstrand Church cemetery that bordered the lovely park, Plantagen, which shared with the cemetery its trees, shared its beech and ash and maple, in the same plot where her mother, wide eyed and confused, had lain down almost willingly two years before, where her brother had lain for thirty-five years, dazed and unwillingly after too short a life. A dove was looking down from atop the family gravestone. It was made from metal so it could not fly away, but sometimes it went missing all the same and only a spike would remain. Someone had taken that dove, someone out there maybe had an entire collection of doves and angels and other small, Christian bronze sculptures in a cupboard at home and on long evenings would close the curtains and take them out and run his fingers gently over the smooth, cold bodies.
Death was a smokescreen between Life and myself.
MOM Wholeheartedly, She loved me- And inspired me- With transcending devotion. It was a blessing- To have been her son, To have been loved- Without conditions. Her words of wisdom- Opened my eyes- To the world- And to myself. By seeing the best in me, She empowered me. By believing in me, She transformed me. She grew old- And floated away, But her love remains standing- Eternally by my side.
They should make earplugs for people who are grieving, so we don't have to hear the stupid things people say, but I'd look like a dork in them." -Corinna
Courtney M. Privett
The dead are never truly gone. They linger in our minds and hearts and torture us with a malice they were not capable of in life.
Such a funny thing death is for mortals. You cry. You morn. You grieve. You get angry. But death is not always tragic, dear one. Sometimes death is the ultimate expression of love.
The good people never die." "What do you mean?" Sky glanced at Leon. He was staring straight ahead and he looked really sad. She wondered if he'd lost someone too. "They live on in the things they said and did - they live on inside of us.
Es la primera vez que se enfrenta con la muerte. Decide que no podrán ser amigas. La ausencia del Maestro es una burla. Las preguntas quedarán sin respuesta. Su cariño sin destino. El Maestro ha muerto. La soledad está más viva que nunca.
I hadn't understood funeral pyres before, but now I do. It's ghastly to burn someone you love but watching the smoke going into the sky, I think that's rather beautiful now. And I wish Tess could be up in the sky. Somewhere with color and light and air.
As a newborn baby each of us was helpless and, without the care and kindness we received then, we would not have survived. Because the dying are also unable to help themselves, we should relieve them of discomfort and anxiety, and assist them, as far as we can, to die with composure.
I’d give in to the grief but make sure I wasn’t loud enough to draw attention from those who think words will make me feel better.
Each man lives in his own universe and when he dies the world is over
I think back to the day I stood before my wife's grave for the final time, and turned away from it without regret, because I knew that what she was was not contained in that hole in the ground. I entered a new life and found her again, in a woman who was entirely her own person. When this life is done, I'll turn away from it without regret as well, because I know she waits for me, in another, different life.
I watch Ethan try to connect the dots in his head, And suddenly his face falls into a sad smile. "Oh," he says. And that's all. I walk over to him, my bare feet sinking into the sand as I trudge along. He's grinning at me now, but it's not the usual plastered-on smile he usually has. This one is somehow more authentic. When I'm within a few feet of him, he holds his arms out. "You're going to be such a good leader," he says. "I'm so proud of you, Five." I embrace Ethan. His arms fold around me as he pats me on the back. He lets out a long, slow sigh and then starts to say something. I cut him off before he can get the words out. I can't stand to hear him say another thing. "Ethan, I'm really sorry about this. But it's for the best." I can feel his body clench as the blade slips out of my forearm sheath and into his back. It slides between his ribs-a lucky shot- then retracts back into my hoodie sleeve. It's over in an instant. I step away from him. He stands frozen, probably in shock. There's a deep spot of read blooming across the right side of his chest where the blade must have broken the skin. Blood drops down from the hidden wrist sheath, running over my right hand before falling from my fingertips to the sand. "It's over," I murmur, more to myself than to Ethan. He's probably not paying much attention to what I have to say. Tears are welling in his good eye, but I don't know if they're for me or for himself. He blinks once and then falls to the beach with a soft thud.
Laila remembered how Mammy had dropped to the ground, how she’d screamed, torn at her hair. But Laila couldn’t even manage that. She could hardly move. She could hardly move a muscle. She sat on the chair instead, hands limp in her lap, eyes staring at nothing, and let her mind fly on. She let it fly on until it found the place, the good and safe place, where the barley fields were green, where the water ran clear and the cottonwood seeds danced by the thousands in the air; where Babi was reading a book beneath an acacia and Tariq was napping with his hands laced across his chest, and where she could dip her feet in the stream and dream good dreams beneath the watchful gaze of gods of ancient, sun-bleached rock.
-¿Has bebido, Harry? —¿Quieres oírlo? —Tu abuelo bebía. Yo lo quería mucho. Borracho o sobrio. No hay mucha gente que pueda decir lo mismo de un padre borracho. No, no quiero oírlo. —Ya. —Y lo mismo puedo decir de ti. Te quiero. Siempre. Borracho o sobrio. Ni siquiera ha sido difícil. Aunque eras muy combativo. Te enfrentabas a la mayoría, incluido tú mismo. Pero quererte es lo más fácil que he hecho en la vida, Harry.
It's a tunnel, not a cave.