Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Bereaves. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Bereaves Quotes And Sayings by 91 Authors including Thomas De Quincey,Terry Tempest Williams,Ann Voskamp,Earl A Grollman,Lord Byron for you to enjoy and share.
Grief! thou art classed amongst the depressing passions. And true it is that thou humblest to the dust, but also thou exaltest to the clouds. Thou shakest us with ague, but also thou steadiest like frost. Thou sickenest the heart, but also thou healest its infirmities.
Grief dares us to love once more.
When grief is deepest, words are fewest.
Grief is love not wanting to let go.
Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
Grief is terror, in its most undiluted form.
Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.
Grief is a species of idleness.
Grieve for us, then, Jewel. Grieve as you must. Only we two are left who will, and only one of us can ever do so openly. Be what I can no longer be, for a little while.
You mean to tell me you're mourning the loss of someone who never existed?
Don't say mourning. It's too psychoanalytic. I'm not mourning. I'm suffering.
In grief, words are a poor consolation - silence and agonizing tears are all that is left the sufferer.
To mourn is to wonder at the strangeness that grief is not written all over your face in bruised hieroglyphics. And it's also to feel, quite powerfully, that you're not allowed to descend into the deepest fathom of your grief - that to do so would be taboo somehow.
Her grief grieved her. His devastated her.
Sorrow's child grieves not what has passed
But all the past still yet to come ...
I do not grieve in the abstract, but in the heart.
To mourn is to touch directly the substance of divine compassion.
Grief and disappointment are like hate: they make men ugly with self-pity and bitterness. And how selfish they make us too.
Mourning has its place but also its limits.
No greater grief than to remember days
Of joy, when mis'ry is at hand.
When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.
It was better than floods of misery that a son of her flesh had killed the sons of other mothers. That burned in her heart like the pain which flared in the arthritis of her knees. Pain was a boring conversationalist who never stopped, just found new topics. Bess
Tears are words waiting to be spoken
When you experience bereavement at a youngish age, you suddenly realise that life is unjust and unfair, that bad things will happen, and you have to take that on board.
Grief, like a tree, has tears for its fruit.
How was it possible to miss someone as much as I missed my mother? I missed her so much I wanted to die: a hard, physical longing, like a craving for air underwater.
The better we grieve, the better we live
We bury love; Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
You've mourned. Now it's time to live.
We are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. as we were. as we are no longer. as we will one day not be at all.
Should - a word of anguish rather than consolation.
My grief reminds me what is dear to my heart by what is no longer to be. Loss is a part of the movement of change, and the grief that accompanies loss is necessary in order to let the movement of change flow through. Tears are like a river releasing to open waters.
In mindful grief, we become the landing strip that allows any feelings to arrive. Some crash, some land softly. Some harm us, but none harm us in a lasting way. We remain as they taxi away or as their wreckage is cleared away. We can trust that we will survive.
I bow in reverence before the emotions of every melted heart ... The more intense the delight in their presence, the more poignant the impression of their absence ... When the tears of bereavement have had their natural flow, they lead us again to life and love's generous joy.
I haven't cried since Mom died. I mean, after something like that, what's left to cry about, right? But I let myself cry now. Loss is loss. Doesn't take death to create it. (266)
Grief was a terrible and beautiful thing.
Grief isn't all tears.
Memory is the only friend of grief.
Mourn for me rather as living than as dead.
Memory nourishes the heart, and grief abates.
Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance.
Grief best is pleased with grief's society ...
There are moments when you think you will cry forever. You never do. Eventually, sheer physical exhaustion forces you to stop, to settle, to becalm yourself amidst all the mad turbulence of bereavement.
Grief is the price we pay for love.
Fretting grief the enemy of life.
Much like trains in India, grief is a circular, irrational process with no discernible rhythm or timetable. Here it comes, there it goes.
Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.
Great grief makes sacred those upon whom its hand is laid. Joy may elevate, ambition glorify, but sorrow alone can consecrate.
Mourning our losses is the first step away from resentment and toward gratitude. The tears of our grief can soften our hardened hearts and open us to the possibility to say thanks.
When you feel sad, you are participating in a venerable experience, to which I, this monument, am dedicated. Your sense of loss and disappointment, of frustrated hopes and grief at your own inadequacy, elevate you to serious company. Do not ignore of throw away your grief
To be left with only the trace of a memory is to gaze at an armchair that's still molded to the form of a love who has left never to return: It is to grieve, dear reader, it is to weep.
The perpetual mourner
the grief that can never be healed
is innocently enough felt to be wearisome by the rest of the world. And my sense of desolation increases. Each day seems a new beginning
a new acquaintance with grief.
To mourn is to be extraordinarily vulnerable. It is to be at the mercy of inside feelings and outside events in a way most of us have not been since early childhood.
Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.
We are all sorry when loss comes for us. The test of our character comes not in how many tears we shed but in how we act after those tears have dried.
My grief is tremendous but my love is bigger.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore;
Remembrance only can remain,
But that, will make us weep the more.
Love is loveliest when embalmed in tears
Life has a way of turning things around. Those who mourn well know this. As a result, they also live well--with courage and curiosity.
They are the silent griefs which cut the heart-strings.
The memory of you saddened my joys, but consoled my sorrows.
Grief is an ocean where the waves obey their own rhythm, their own tide, where we are just thrown about to stay afloat as best we can. Where there is in fact no guarantee that we will keep our heads above water.
Every time there are losses, there are choices to be made. You choose to live your losses as passages to anger, blame, hatred, depression and resentment, or you choose to let these losses be passages to something new, something wider, and deeper.
Our memories of our loved ones are the pearl we form around the grain of grief that causes us pain.
So mourn'd the dame of Ephesus her love.
Over the past forty days, I think I grieved for her every hour. In a way, I grieved for her before she died. And now that she was gone, I grieved for her still. Part of me wondered, however, if the grief would have been sharper, more debilitating, if I hadn't been given the month to say goodbye.
Grief takes many forms, including the absence of grief.
Her bond with the couple who raised her is fierce and beyond questioning. She cannot name the sensation of losing them as grief. She has no word for longing or despair.
Waste not fresh tears over old griefs.
Stop your weeping. Grief is for the dead.
I'm grieving over what a jerk you are...
Waste no tears over the griefs of yesterday.
Grief is a disease. We were riddled with its pockmarks, tormented by its fevers, broken by its blows. It ate at us like maggots, attacked us like lice- we scratched ourselves to the edge of madness. In the process we became as withered as crickets, as tired as old dogs.
Grief is the agony of an instant: the indulgence of grief is the blunder of life.
Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life.
you mourn, you hurt and you start to heal.
The grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break.
Money lost is bewailed with unfeigned tears.
Grief is an unfillable hole in your body. It should be weightless, but it's heavy. Should be cold, but it burns. Should, over time, close up, but instead it deepens.
Bereavement, despair, ache, yearning happen to all. We all bear the pain of grief. We all take them in our own ways. And we are all blessed with the grace to transcend. (Page xii)
Grief loves the hollow; all it wants is to hear its own echo.
One is not allowed a grief for a life never lived. Yet one has buried the fruit of love, and a great deal of hope and many dreams.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.
My lonely eyes looked over the graves. I wept.
When our children die, we drop them into the unknown, shuddering with fear. We know that they go out from us, and we stand, and pity, and wonder.
Grief causes suffering and disease.
There are no words for so much loss, not right after it happens.
It must be sad to outlive aught we love.
Pass on by us and forgive us our happiness
Dizzied, thrilled, depressed by remembering ...
Love is the funeral of hearts.
I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge.
Grief is a bad moon, a sleeper wave. It's like having an inner combatant, a saboteur who, at the slightest change in the sunlight, or at the first notes of a jingle for a dog food commercial, will flick the memory switch, bringing tears to your eyes.
Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors and talk of wills; And yet not so - for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words,
Remembers me of his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
When the friends we love the best Lie in their churchyard bed, We must not cry too bitterly Over the happy dead.
In all the silent manliness of grief.
He had grieved for me, I'll give him that much. But then he is so good at grieving! He wears woe as others wear velvet; sorrow flatters him like the light of candles; tears become him like jewels.
No care and no sorrow,