Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Mournful. 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 Mournful Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including Lord Byron,Neil Gaiman,Olive Ann Burns,Meghan O'rourke,Alice Munro for you to enjoy and share.
There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave.
You mourn, for it is proper to mourn. But your grief serves you; you do not become a slave to grief. You bid the dead farewell, and you continue.
But to mourn, that's different. To mourn is to be eaten alive with homesickness for the person.
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.
I sit watching the brown oceanic waves of dry country rising into the foothills and I weep monotonously, seasickly. Life is not like the dim ironic stories I like to read, it is like a daytime serial on television. The banality will make you weep as much as anything else.
Grief isn't all tears.
The mourner does not pity the dead . He pities himself for having lost the living .
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
[Matt 5:4]
Much like trains in India, grief is a circular, irrational process with no discernible rhythm or timetable. Here it comes, there it goes.
We weep as we witness the dead of a loved one.
If tears of sorrow are the echoes of things lost, what then are tears of joy?
To mourn is to feel a flower's slow death, hill bear. To bed a man is to recall the flower's bright glory.
It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.
In grief, words are a poor consolation - silence and agonizing tears are all that is left the sufferer.
No more to say, and nothing to weep for
Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention. Until now there had been every urgent reason to obliterate any attention that might otherwise have been paid, banish the thought, bring fresh adrenaline to bear on the crisis of the day.
you mourn, you hurt and you start to heal.
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.
Grief is, of all the passions, the one that is the most ingenious and indefatigable in finding food for its own subsistence.
Tears are the silent passion for suffering
We hear the rain fall, but not the snow. Bitter grief is loud, calm grief is silent.
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.
Grief is love turned into an eternal missing
Grief works its own perversions and betrayals; the shape of what we have lost is as subject to corruption as the mortal body ...
Immoderate grief is selfish, harmful, brings no advantage to either the mourner or the mourned, and dishonors the dead.
Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
Mourn with those are sorrowful.
Be happy with those who are joyful.
Grief is loved turned into an eternal missing ... It can't be contained in hours or days or minutes.
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 an emotion that's almost unplayable because you're in a separate emotional state; it's an inconsolable emotion.
Weeping ... betraying a sense of loss so huge and irreparable that the mind balks at taking its measure.
Oh! grief is fantastic; it weaves a web on which to trace the history of its woe from every form and change around; it incorporates itself with all living nature; it finds sustenance in every object; as light, it fills all things, and, like light, it gives its own colors to all.
Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.
Those who grieve find comfort in weeping and in arousing their sorrow until the body is too tired to bear the inner emotions.
Faded smiles oft linger in the face, While grief's first flakes fall silent on the heart!
sorrow not only twists the heart, but also dims the eyes. Only the very wise can see good in the earth when they are grieving.
Mourning held a different kind of quiet. The simple lack of sound only roughly resembled the silence of grieving. When studied, the two were as dissimilar as tears and water. Lance
She grieves sincerely who grieves unseen.
Grief has a colour. It has other characteristics, I know now, collectively forming a personality of sorts. An antagonizing figure that arrives in your life and refuses to leave or sit anywhere but next to you or stop whispering the name of the departed in your ear.
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.
You begin to cry and writhe and yell and then to keep on crying; and finally, grief ends up giving you the two best gifts: softness and illumination. Every
Joys as winged dreams fly fast, / Why should sadness longer last? / Grief is but a wound to woe; / Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
My tears will keep no channel, know no laws to guide their streams, but like the waves, their cause, run with disturbance till they swallow me as a description of his misery.
I mourn the piece of myself that I gave away and will never get back
None mourn more ostentatiously than those who most rejoice at it [a death].
Beloved, till life can charm no more; And mourned, till Pity's self be dead.
Sorrow's child grieves not what has passed
But all the past still yet to come ...
Grief loves the hollow; all it wants is to hear its own echo.
There is a time when death is an event, an ad-venture, and as such mobilizes, interests, activates, tetanizes. And then one day it is no longer an event, it is another duration, compressed, insignificant, not narrated, grim, without recourse: true mourning not susceptible to any narrative dialectic.
so heavy with sorrow , so full of pain
Sorrow was my constant companion, even though I no longer wept. It was the shadow that followed me on sunny days, the weight pressing down upon my spirits on cloudy ones.
I was not sorrowful, but only tired
Of everything that ever I desired.
Nothing is more natural than grief, no emotion more common to our daily experience. It's an innate response to loss in a world where everything is impermanent.
But grief is also a tonic. It is a healing elixir, made of tears that lubricate the heart.
Great griefs exhaust. They discourage us with life. The man into whom they enter feels something taken from him. In youth, their visit is sad; later on, it is ominous.
Sorrow and loss never die. We can put them away in a chest and lock it tight, but whenever it is opened, even a crack, the aroma of lost sweetness will rise to fill our lungs to heaviness.
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.
This was not a loss that could be shared. Grief was a place every person had to go alone, a lonely country populated by mistakes and a futile desire to turn back time for an impossible do-over.
The heart overwhelmed by grief knows no rest ...
To mourn deeply for the death of another loosens from myself the petty desire for, and the animal adherence to life. We have gained the end of the philosopher, and view without shrinking the coffin and the pall.
The problem is, not to find whether the picture is mournful, but whether it is true. And for that we have the testimony of history.
Grief takes many forms, including the absence of grief.
Grief is a little like being in a fresh snowfall. A light, cold curtain falls between you and the rest of the world.
Joy surfeited turns to sorrow.
Whose lenient sorrows find relief, whose joys are chastened by their grief.
How we respond to grief can shape our present
Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance.
Grief, as I read somewhere once, is a lazy Susan. One day it is heavy and underwater, and the next day it spins and stops at loud and rageful, and the next day at wounded keening, and the next day at numbness, silence.
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
Well blest is he who has a dear one dead; A friend he has whose face will never change- A dear communion that will not grow strange; The anchor of a love is death.
To mourn was distressing, but to endeavor to mourn and fail was worse than distress.
Grief is like a journey one must take on a winding mountainside, often seeing the same scenery many times, a road which eventually leads to somewhere we've never been before.
In Kelanna, when they mourn, they tell stories - as if the stories will keep you close to them. Believing that if they tell them often enough, for long enough, you won't be forgotten. Hoping that the stories will keep you alive - if only in memory. But
Grief is terror, in its most undiluted form.
The elegy does the work of mourning; it allows us to experience mortality. It turns loss into remembrance, and it delivers an inheritance.
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)
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.
In Today's time
The HUMAN not sad from own GRIEF
he's sad because it's seen the JOY of other's people
It's called DOLLISHNESS..
Don't go into this DARKNESS.. !!
A mourner is, perforce, a person with a story. The pity is, how very rarely it gets told.
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.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Tears are a tribute to our deceased friends. When the body is sown, it must be watered. But we must not sorrow as those that have no hope; for we have a good hope through grace both concerning them and concerning ourselves.
When grief is deepest, words are fewest.
A grief travels with us as far as we carry it.
Grief came in waves, sometimes big, sometimes small, but even on the calmest days, the grief remained. The tide still came ashore.
If mourning is denied outlet, the result will be suffering,
Death: the only true emotion felt in an apathetic world
I lived my grief; I slept mourning and ate sorrow and drank tears. I ignored all else.
Grief is devastating, all-consuming. But grief merely visits friends, even the closest. It stays much longer, probably forever, with the family, but that was probably how it should be.
Her death leaves me both depleted and emboldened. That's what tragedy does to you, I am learning. The sadness and wild freedom of it all impart a strange durability. I feel weathered and detached, tucking my head against the winds and trudging forward into life.
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
None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
Grief, and an estate, is joy understood.
Condole - to show that bereavement is a smaller evil than sympathy.
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.
Nature's law, That man was made to mourn. Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! O Death, the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best!
Mournier defined his own position as one of 'tragic optimism
' a Christian attitude of absolute engagement in the struggles of history, despite the fact that the Absolute cannot be contained in history.
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.
Only tears can understand the joy of sorrow.
Grief and disappointment are like hate: they make men ugly with self-pity and bitterness. And how selfish they make us too.