Best 3947 quotes in «grief quotes» category

It’s a diamond isle of paradise beneath a black sky! Welcome to a crisp Italian January! We’re so much more than lavish travelers now… We’ll go down in history, Down like this vessel that sank so swiftly, Down to the depths below… These angels are splashing through neon casinos, Lifeboats are launching, and first up’s Schettino . Don’t blame him, he claims he fell in! That’s why he’s safe and we’re sorry. Vada a bordo, cazzo! Our beautiful floating carnival is DYING! Velvet carpets soaked with seawater, elevators sealed shut! The sour taste of death flows through in waves, Pulling people down to icy graves, Down to the depths below… Who am I? I’m his purser, and I might survive, If the coastguard realizes I’m still alive. For now I’m down here, as you might overhear, At the trial where he’ll share his story. Vada a bordo, cazzo!

I try to do something positive – I socialise more… But deep down I know the truth. An entire world of people can never replace the one that I’ve lost.

I try to remember everything, every thing, but sometimes I forget something. I don’t even know what it is sometimes, but I know it’s not coming to me, something about him isn’t coming to me and when that happens, when a piece is missing, it makes me crazy. I don’t know what to do with that.

It’s all about the perspective. Some saw it as pain and drowned in grief, some saw it as 'hurt love' and healed in this belief.

It's a small thing, a life.

It's being without him that I'll never get used to.

It's a tunnel, not a cave.

It’s difficult to move forward when we dwell on that which cannot be changed. If we remain too long in the shadow of what has happened, we can become shadows ourselves. Sometimes we are searching for our loved ones, sometimes for a part of ourselves, for the people we were before this loss. But our loved ones cannot be found in the darkness of never because they exist now in the light of eternity.

it's easy to be forgetful when you're grieving, even forget those things that you believe most people wouldn't.

It seemed everyone knew their place in it, but I was in the mood where I would rather be alone and look a houseplants.

It's easy to be cynical about death when you're young. When you are young, death is an anomaly. It's not real. It only affects other people. It's a bullet you'll dodge easily. It's why young people can go into battle: they really will live forever. They know. As you stick around, as you go around the Earth, you realize that life is an ever-narrowing conveyor belt. Slowly, inexorably, it takes us all along with it, and one by one we tumble off the side of the conveyor belt into darkness. . . They fall off the conveyor belt into the darkness, our friends, and we cannot talk to them anymore.

It seemed as if the valley were not always girded by woods, growing on the surrounding hills and facing away from the horizon, but the trees had only taken up their places now, rising out of the ground to offer their condolences. He almost waved away the tangible beauty of the hour like a crowd of persistent friends, almost said to the lingering afterglow, 'thank you, thank you, I'll be all right.'

It seemed like a mistake. And mistakes ought to be rectified, only this one couldn't be. Between the way things used to be and the way they were now was a void that couldn't be crossed. I had to find an explanation other than the real one, which was that we were no more immune to misfortune than anybody else, and the idea that kept recurring to me...was that I had inadvertently walked through a door that I shouldn't have gone through and couldn't get back to the place I hadn't meant to leave. Actually, it was other way round: I hadn't gone anywhere and nothing was changed, so far as the roof over our heads was concerned, it was just that she was in the cemetery.

It’s funny how we say a person ‘made’ us when they actually broke us. Sort of like how I say ‘funny’... but I actually mean sad.

It's funny how sometimes you don't see the obvious things coming. You think you know what life has in store for you. You think you're prepared. You think you can handle it. And then-boom, like a thunderclap-something comes at you out of nowhere and catches you off guard.

It’s important to remember that what has already been can never be taken from us. The past is, perhaps, the only sure thing we have. It is inked on the pages of our lives, not penciled in. And there is some comfort in that.

It shouldn't be this easy. Grief isn't supposed to be easy.

It’s like everyone has their own little recipe for happiness, but no one really seems all that happy.

It's like I have this large black hole in my brain and it's sucking the life out of me. The answers are in there so I sit for hours and stare. No matter how hard and long I look, I only see darkness.

It's like Romeo & Juliet,' I say. 'You can't separate them. Otherwise, there would be no Shakespeare.' Silence. I decide to be more straightforward. I tell him, 'Nothing frightens me anymore. I am not even afraid to die.' Bussey's eyes, already wide open, grow even wider. My death is the last thing he needs. I have the strange feeling that there are two of me. One observes the conversation while the other does the talking. Everything is abnormal, especially this extreme calm that has taken me over. I try to explain to Bussey that if I decide to die, it will be without bitterness. I know I did everything I possibly could, so it will be respectful farewell. I will bow to life like an actor, who, having delivered his lines, bends deeply to his audience & retires. I tell Bussey that this decision has nothing to do with him, that it is entirely mine. I will choose either to live or to die, but I cannot allow myself to live in the in-between. I do not want to go through life like a ghost. 'Do you think you'll find Danny this way?' Bussey asks. My mind sifts through all available theories on the afterlife. It is as if this metaphysical question has become as real as the air we breathe. Buddhism teaches that life is an eternal cycle without beginning or end. I recall the metaphor: "Our individual lives are like waves produced from the great ocean that is the universe. The emergence of a wave is life, and its abatement is death. This rhythm repeats eternally." Finally I answer Bussey, 'No, I don't think so.' Bussey seems relieved, but I'm more panicky, because I had never thought that I could wind up alone. In my mind, whatever the odds, Danny & I were & would be together forever.

It’s just never going to get any easier is it. It’s never going away, this missing you. It’s going to become a sadness I incorporate into myself – along with all the other sadnesses – and quietly carry around with me forever…

...it's just one miss, but you're gonna have a whole lotta makes in this life, 'cause you're just that good, and it's okay to be down and upset as long as you're not down and out

It's like she has her heart in her hand and it's broken. She's holding it out and showing me all the little pieces. Or maybe it's my heart.

It's my own deep-rooted feeling that our souls never truly die and that life continues in some way. I know I need to have patience as my beliefs continue to evolve with my personal growth. As I've looked around at the things I do have in my life, I've gradually started to trust in life again, little by little. I think, "How could all of these other amazing things come into my life if there was not something larger than me?

It’s like you’re always living in your head. . . . Relax and appreciate your surroundings a little.

It's like you don't get that she's not gone yet, like you think her time left isn't meaningful anymore. You're acting like a selfish child.

It’s not that easy. Loss needs to be experienced. It should be felt in all it’s beautiful and horrible ways. When your heart is shredded like fraying fabric and dangling in pieces, the scotch tape method isn’t going to work long term. Careful stitching and honest grieving is necessary to put things back into place. Maybe not perfectly, but at least in a way so you can breathe again.

It's not life situations but our thoughts are the pilots of grief.

It's not that I am not moved by these things, that I don't them in my life. But lately, their power has diminished." - 140

It’s not okay,” I tell her. This gets her attention; it’s not what she was expecting. “You don’t have to be okay.” “What do you want from me?” Her voice is ragged, desperate. “I want you to let yourself be broken. Let yourself hurt.” She shakes her head again. “I can’t. If I let it out, it’ll never stop.” “Yes, it will.

It's not unusual to feel emotionally split, as if living a dual reality. How we are functioning on the outside is often not reflective of what is happening on the inside. If we could photograph this, it might look like a double exposure. Grief is a layer that we wear on our hearts and spirits, at least for a time. Initially, it might be like outerwear. We wrap ourselves in it—we may even lose ourselves in it—and others understand that we cannot take it off in their presence, even if we tried. When it becomes too heavy or uncomfortable to lug around, we tuck it under the surface of our skin or pack it away in an interior closet. But we never forget it is there.

It’s not TIME that heals everything, it is SLEEP... Sleeping is the perfect answer to all doubts and troubles. Leaving the world of reality behind and disappearing in to a world of make-believe and imaginations, is a solace you get from nothing else...

It’s okay to cry. Giving in to the tears is terrifying, like freefalling to earth without a parachute. But it’s vital to our wellbeing as we process the deep anguish.

It’s painful, loving someone from afar. Watching them – from the outside. The once familiar elements of their life reduced to nothing more than occasional mentions in conversations and faces changing in photographs….. They exist to you now as nothing more than living proof that something can still hurt you … with no contact at all.

It's possible I am pushing through solid rock in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone; I am such a long way in I see no way through, and no space: everything is close to my face, and everything close to my face is stone.

It's still ok to dream with a broken heart.

It's the same struggle for each of us, and the same path out: the utterly simple, infinitely wise ultimately defiant act of loving one thing and then another, loving our way back to life... Maybe being perfectly happy is not really the point. Maybe that is only some modern American dream of the point, while the truer measure of humanity is the distance we must travel in our lives, time and again, "twixt two extremes of passion--joy and grief," as Shakespeare put it. However much I've lost, what remains to me is that I can still speak to name the things I love. And I can look for safety in giving myself away to the world's least losable things.

It’s the intricate details you miss the most. For me, it’s the soft lines around the eyes when he smiles… Or that look he gave me sometimes that I cannot begin to describe - but I would know it if I saw it again. It was the look that gave him away. I’d know that look anywhere… It used to be my everything.

It sucked having a dead person in your family and I knew what he meant about seeking solace in the old light...because you can't let the light catch up with the present. Otherwise you'd forget.

It takes a strong woman to lose everything, then stand naked in front of the mirror and face herself again. You need time, honey. And I don't mean time for it to go away. I mean time to learn how to live with it. This is a pain you'll always carry.

It's the great mystery of human life that old grief passes gradually into quiet, tender joy. The mild serenity of age takes the place of the riotous blood of youth. I bless the rising sun each day, and, as before, my heart sings to meet it, but now I love even more its setting, its long slanting rays and the soft, tender, gentle memories that come with them, the dear images from the whole of my long, happy life -- and over all the Divine Truth, softening, reconciling, forgiving! My life is ending, I know that well, but every day that is left me I feel how earthly life is in touch with a new infinite, unknown, but approaching life, the nearness of which sets my soul quivering with rapture, my mind glowing and my heart weeping with joy.

It’s times like this…. when it’s over a year later and I’m still crying over you that I want to turn to you and say: See…. This is why I asked you never to kiss me.

It’s voyeuristic the way you search for answers in these cries for help, and how you see Death’s fingers but always think they’re paintbrushes.

It's what the loss uncovers in you that brings on despair, not the loss itself.

I turned to face Audrey, and everything I loved was right there in her eyes, the memories tangible: the schooldays and sleepovers, the cheap bottles of wine and sappy chick flicks. She was there for my mother’s drunken relapses, there to hold me until I fell asleep the first time the ex from Seattle hit me. It was all there, and my God, each memory was suddenly sacred and the sun rose and set upon it.

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.

It was a look that suggested emotions happening just past your line of sight: a grief so deep you'd never be able to see it, a love so fierce it could swallow itself completely.

It was amazing that you did not become your grief entirely, and walk about leaking it everywhere.

It was an oddly satisfying idea to feel bereft as I left my mother this time. We only feel bereft when we’re deprived of something meaningful.

It turns out that it's possible, if you are careful, to feel all the feelings that come with having and caring for a black hole, but to still not be consumed by it. I was, I realized, no longer afraid-- not of this darkness, or any other.