424 Quotes About Death-of-a-loved-one

I wait and pray and hopeI will look forward to each brand new daythankful for all that I've had and will always havethankful for the sun that shines againbelieving and hanging onbelieving that life will go onit can't help but go onit shall go onand in so goingthere really is no endonly mornings and eveningsand life that never ever ends.

People kept giving me space, all of us hoping my grief had a half-life, but I didn't need space. I needed people to say Miles's name out loud. I needed them not to flinch when I said it. Weren't they curious about the color of his eyes? I needed them to acknowledge not just that he had died but that he had lived.

Life goes on, whether you like it or not. I just wished it could lurch forward. Time is the best doctor, they say, and that’s bullshit, because from certain pains you can never heal. They keep screaming inside of you till eventually you get used to the noise and can hear again the life outside, but they are always there, aching, clawing at your soul.

When people die,' she said softly, 'It doesn't necessarily mean you're ready to give them up.

The inscription on his gravestone had felt so wholly insufficient the moment she saw it. Just a name and dates, carved by machine. Just the inadequate and impersonal. Loving Father and Husband, like every other headstone there, whether it was true or not. This was the tasteful way to do it, she knew, even though it showed none of the true shape of the man

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.

Death, like fiction, is brutal in its symmetry. Take this story and strip it down -all the way back- until you are left with two points. Two dots on a vast, blank canvas, separeted by a sea of white. Here, we have come to the first point, where the batj is drawn and the hand is reachinh for the razor blade. I will meet you at the next, by the axle of a screaming wheel, the revolution of a clock, the closing of an orbit.

60 beats in minutes of mine, is not the living aspiration. Libretto is the only pulse doing of voice, visions, vapoursation in me is continuing if the end comes, it's just the libretto has touched me too closer.

one must learn to live with the living before one can learn to live with the dead.