3,968 Quotes About Grief

Sophia shrieked and fainted on the ground – I screamed and instantly ran mad. We remained thus mutually deprived of our senses, some minutes, and on regaining them were deprived of them again. For an Hour and a Quarter did we continue in this unfortunate situation – Sophia fainting every moment and I running mad as often. At length a groan from the hapless Edward (who alone retained any share of life) restored us to ourselves.

I don't think those who die are any better than those who stay alive. They just look better. They can't mess anything up anymore.

Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women, kitchen of love, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes, the men, they come with keys, and sometimes the men, they come with hammers.

And then smelling it,feeling it beforethe sound even reacheshim, he kneels atcliff’s edge and for thefirst time, turns hishead toward the nowvisible falls thatgush over a quarter-mile of uplifted sheet-granite across the valleyand he pauses,lowering his eyesfor a moment, unableto withstand thetranquility—vast, unencumbered,terrifying, and primal.

And that's why I don't get to cry, I guess. Because they do. Because we're older but we're not the grown-ups who seem too far away to understand. I tuck that thought inside me, warm and small like balled hands inside hoodie pockets. Beneath the beech trees and sugar maples, feet crunching against dead leaves, I hope for strength. Because as much as I want to be the one crying, I want to be the kind of person someone can hold onto.

I loved her. I did not know what state of mind I would be in when I got where I was going and I was most worried that in the process I might forget her. I did not ever want to forget her! I held the image of her in my mind so strongly and the eternal love for her so deep within my heart that it could never ever be erased, no matter what. My love for her was stronger than anything that could happen to me.

I don't know whether to cry or scream or do both. It feels like I've done more than enough of both. And it feels like I haven't done enough.And at some point, I know I'm going to have to crawl out of this bed and pick up the pieces but right now, it can be just me. Just me, these four walls, and this bed.The universe doesn't have to exist outside this bedroom, and that's perfectly okay.

All night I see that abandonment is me, that the sole sobbing voice is me. We can search with lanterns, cross the shadow's lie. We can feel the heart thud in the thigh and water subside in the archaic site of the heart. All night I ask you why. All night you tell me no.

What else has kept any of us going, but love of someone or the memory of that love?