Niccolo Machiavelli Quotes

There is a kind of euphoria of grief, a degree of madness.

My father's death, my move, and my frightening and difficult delivery created a tremendous amount of stress, pain, and sadness for me. I was practically devastated beyond recovery.

When Michael died I was tipped over the edge. I was beyond grief.

Every time I get a lot of money, I cry, and I got a lot of tears left.

Grief, for me, is a moment-to-moment experience.

In my own life, I have found grief to be enormously distorting, particularly if it's sudden or extreme in nature.

A son could bear with great complacency, the death of his father, while the loss of his inheritance might drive him to despair.

I rode all day. I cried all night. The moon didn’t glow. The sun didn’t rise. A comet blazed Between my eyes. West and South, Wind and rain. Every way is Just the same. Pray give me a box To hide inside. Pray give me a spade To dig my own grave.

Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief. Her body would lie on the stones below, broken and innocent, shaming all those who had betrayed her. Sansa went so far as to cross the bedchamber and throw open the shutters ... but then her courage left her, and she ran back to her bed, sobbing.

Nothing was working, and my friend was dead, and I didn't want to look at that.

What is it with me? Am I absolutely nobody, but merely inordinately vain? I do not know…. But I am most fearfully unhappy. That is all. I am so unhappy that I wish I was dead—yet I should be mad to die when I have not yet lived at all.

Grief teaches the steadiest minds to waver.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.

I felt the kind of desperation, I think, that cancels the possibility of empathy...that makes you unkind.

He always thought that Touie's long illness would somehow prepare him for her death. He always imagined that grief anf guilt, if they followed, would be more clear-edged, more defined, more finite. Instead they seem like weather, like clouds constantly re-forming into new shapes, blown by nameless, unidentifiable winds.

Stuart must have sensed my despair from the way I began lightly banging my forehead on the table.

There's no light at the end of the tunnel, there isn't even a tunnel. The best thing I can do is get drunk and listen to classical music. Or sleep and wait for death to get closer. Leaving this will not be a horrible thing. Yet I'm glad, somehow, that I threw my words in the air: confetti, celebrating nothing.

I am now a man of despair, rejected, abandoned, shut up in this iron cage from which there is no escape.

And so I leave this world, where the heart must either break or turn to lead (suicide note)

He went home one evening and drank three cups of tea with three lumps of sugar in each cup, cut his jugular with a razor three times and scrawled on a photograph of his wife with his dying hand goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

Alexander smoked and watched her from his tree stump bench. What are you doing? she would ask him. Nothing, he would reply. Nothing but growing my pain into madness.

Grief, which disposes gentle natures to retirement, to inaction, and to meditation, only makes restless spirits more restless.

And the thought of that makes me want to open a vein, experience pain, know I'm alive, despite this living death.

No” Daniel cried “ No, no, no” Luce’s heart ached as he tore at his hair, spun in circle and let his wings bloom out to their full size.

There are moments of despair that come sometimes, when night sets in and a white fog presses against the windows. Then our house changes its shape, rears up and becomes a place of despair. Then fear and rage run simply--and the thought of Death as a friend. This is the simplest of thoughts, that Death must come when we call, although he is a god.