Best 3947 quotes in «grief quotes» category

This had always been the worst time when the quiet emptiness could leave him gasping for breath. She was there, his wife, a peripheral shadow moving across a doorway, or in the reflection of a window, and he had to stop looking for her. And the whiskey helped – helped him walk past her when the fire was doused. But occasionally she followed him up the stairs and that’s why he began to take the bottle with him, because she stood in the corner of their bedroom and watched him undress, and when he was on the verge of sleep, she leant over him and asked him things like, Remember when we first met?

This is another awful truth of losing people you love: everyone needs something different. And the needs almost never match up.

This heart is a hurricane, turbulent with ache screaming winds of grief waiting to make the sky fall, to pluck the clouds from their beds with its whipping winds

This horrible half-grief has made me feel complicit in darkness. I worry that my sadness will be interpreted as an endorsement of his choices—of his very existence—and in this matter I don’t want to be misunderstood, so I cannot admit that I grieve him, that I care at all for the loss of this monstrous man who raised me. And in the absence of healthy action I remain frozen, a sentient stone in the wake of my father’s death. I hated him. I hated him with a violent intensity I’ve never since experienced. But the fire of true hatred, I realize, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much, if I did not care. And it is this, my unrequited affection for my father, that has always been my greatest weakness. So I lie here, marinating in a sorrow I can never speak of, while regret consumes my heart. I am an orphan.

This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don't have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping.

This is the real power of joy, to make us certain that, beneath all grief, the most fundamental of realities is joy itself.

This is what it means to love someone. This is what it means to grieve someone. It’s a little bit like a black hole. It’s a little bit like infinity.

This seems hard now, but it’s this pain that’ll help you keep fighting. Unfortunately, it’s a double-edged sword. Promise me, you won’t let this pain destroy you.

This raw sorrow. This rock of pain in my chest is the ocean of tears I hold in my heart for you, which I must cry one by one.

This time when she picked up her paints, she didn’t think, she just painted. It was like opening the door onto a storm. The canvas was her doorway and the paint all the thunder and lightning, the wild pain-filled sky caught inside her.

This time, there are no tears. This time, there is only emptiness and I feel it set in the straight line of my mouth. I am not strong enough for this. I want an earthquake, a hurricane, anything - even a devil, the one with the cloven hoof - Mrs. Leed's unfortunate 13th child - to rush out and stomp on me, break me into little pieces and hurl me to the stars, let me go back with those people I love. Please.

This was how to help a family who has just lost their child. Wash the clothes, make soup. Don't ask them what they need, bring them what they need. Keep them warm. Listen to them rant, and cry, and tell their story over and over.

This was a normal town once, and we were normal people. Most of us worked at the plastics factory on the outskirts of town. Then one day there was an accident... something escaped from the factory, a yellow gas. It floated over the town so fast that we didn't see it, didn't realize... and then it was too late, and Dark Falls wasn't a normal town anymore.

This was not [him]. It was a thing, with all the [him]-ness gone from it. Death takes the person and leaves his shell behind, like a hollowed-out tree.

...this woman, moved by some private sorrow as much as the words being spoken, cried almost silently, unobserved by others, apart from Mma Ramotswe, who stretched out her hand and laid it on her shoulder. Do not cry, Mma, she began to whisper, but changed her words even as she uttered them, and said quietly, Yes, you can cry, Mma. We should not tell people not to weep - we do it because of our sympathy for them - but we should really tell them that their tears are justified and entirely right.

Those of us who receive the blessing of a long life will also need to understand and manage grief and loss many times throughout our lives. Grief will come again, and again. Loss is a requisite part of the aging process and the human experience.

Those we love will always be a part of us. Will we miss them? Of course we will! It is terribly painful to begin the journey of living without them. But refusing to take even one wobbly step toward a new way of experiencing all they have left us does not honor them and will not bring them close again. It may take time, maybe years, for us to take that first step out of the darkness of despair and the shadows of the past into the dawn of a new present. But when we do, we will not be disappointed. Our loved ones are waiting for us there, not just in the future when we join them in what is to come, but in the present, where their loving energy can still be felt.

Those who do not care, escape the anguish of mourning but never know the delights of love. The meaning of life forever eludes them.

Those who know you see your tears even in the rain.

Those who sit in the house of grief will someday sit in the garden.

Those with no one to blame are alone with their grief.

Though he plunged into work as another man might have plunged into dissipation, to drown the thought of her, you could see that he had no longer any interest in it; he no longer loved it. He attacked it with a fury that had more hate in it than love.

Though I knew in my mind that others had felt such loss, this loss was mine, and I felt that no one would ever understand it, and to try to explain the lonliness and pain I felt would be futile.

Though it’s reasons to burn may vary... you are always the fuel of my fire.

Though I never really had you…. … to me you will always be the one that got away.

Though this death pains us and we wish dearly that we were not forced to endure it, we must all remember that death is natural. All things that are born must die, but not all death is an end. Though her mortal body no longer breathes, her spirit and her memory remain. While her spirit moves on to new worlds and new life, we must pay respect to the earthly capsule that allowed us to know and love her, and out of that respect we return it to its rightful home.

Though these words will never find you, I hope that you knew I was thinking of you today….. and that I was wishing you every happiness. Love Always, The girl you loved once.

Thoughts, pictures of him would come to me just a second after waking, shocking me from the forgetfulness of sleep, striking blows that were almost physical. And even in sleep I was not completely free. So often sleep brought dreams of him.

Three boys. Three deaths. One school. We've made the national news. Is out school cursed? Are we a reckless bunch of fools? The media asks questions no one can answer. Kids can't stop crying.

Three, 300, or 3000 - these are the number of unknown days, each too little and too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer, with death lingering in the doorway, but never quite being sent all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place.

Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown days, a week, a year, or a decade, each far too precious little and yet, poignantly too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer. That irreversible release lingers in the doorway, but is never quite ushered all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place.” When the time finally comes, we can be enveloped in a warm cloak of long-awaited acceptance and peace that eases our own pain; that quiets the grief which has moaned inside of us, at least some, every single one one of those bittersweet days, weeks... or years.

Three grey women walk with me Fate and Grief and Memory. My fate brought grief; my grief must be With me through Eternity, Such thy power, memory. Three grey women walk with me.

Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown days, each far too little and yet too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer, with that bittersweet release lingering in the doorway, but never quite being sent all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place.” ― Connie Kerbs

Through hear tears, she did not see opportunity. “How could you do this!” she cried to her son’s commander in chief. And then, thinking of Bush’s two children, who would never face combat: “THIS IS NOT YOUR DAUGHTER!” On the helicopter ride back to the White House, Bush murmured to an aide, “that big black woman was really angry at me.” He thought for a moment before adding, “I don’t blame here.” He turned to the window of Marine One and said nothing else.

Throughout those nameless days, my temper exploded at slight frustrations. Trembling, sitting in my stomach,m would spread until my whole body was shaking.

Throw off your grief,' doubters imply, 'and we can all go back to pretending death doesn't exist, or at least is comfortably far away.

Thus heaven's gift to us is this: That habit takes the place of bliss.

Thus ended the first and adventurous part of his existence. What followed was so different that, but for the reality of sorrow which remained with him, this strange part must have resembled a dream.

Tides washed the wounds but the scars remained and continued to burn whenever a similar wind blew...

Tiffany found her mind filling up with an invisible gray mist, and in that thought there was nothing but grief. She could feel herself trying to push back time, but even the best witchcraft could not do that.

Times of mourning displace us from ordinary life.

Time heals everything, that’s what everyone says. Wounds heal and leave only scars behind. But some wounds run too deep to heal, and pierce the deepest layers of one’s soul. They stay there unhealed and ready to ooze blood at the first sign of grief.

Time is pulling us apart. With every second that passes, the space between us widens. Today, I saw him yesterday. In a few days, it will have been last week. Then, last month. And there is nothing I can do to keep time from wedging more of itself between us. It is inevitable. - Miles

To all the motherless daughters out there; may your heartache serve you in the best of ways. May your grief give you a better understanding of yourself, may your sentiment allow you to express and create, and may your love expand beyond what you ever thought possible.

To be afraid of sorrow is to be afraid of joy also.

To be happy to be sad and sad to be happy is to sing an echo in that beautiful language called Sorrow.

Today’s storms usher in tomorrow’s sunshine.

To better handle grief, become the passenger, not the driver.

Today's tears sweep the road to tomorrow's blessings.

To ease a grieving heart is the world's greatest pleasure, more so, when the heart is yours.