Conrad Veidt Quotes

The grief of losing my father has come in waves over the years, as it does with most people. His love and devotion as a father provided my closest, most intimate relationship. Dad, and our time together, is in my bones. While reflecting on him, the memories themselves seem to boil down into certain 'essences of Dad.'

My father died when I was 7. I was his favorite child, and he was my beloved father. I brought him along with me all through my life. Every elderly man has a bit of my father in him for me.

I missed my father so much when he died that writing about his life and mine was a way of bringing him back to life and getting me to sort of understand more about him and what made him the father, the husband and the man that he was, and how that made me the man, husband and father that I am.

My parents were very proud of me. After they passed, my career doesn't mean as much to me.

But more importantly, I think he remembered how very close I was with my own dad, who had died in 1997.

I would like my Dad to be alive so he could see what I am.

My mother died, and I couldn't stand to look at her bedroom any more. I'd get sick. I've always been a momma's boy.

I'm very proud of my daughter. She accomplished a whole lot in the short time that she had here... she was a very wonderful person.

These displays of affection mean a lot to our family and are a reminder of the heart that my people have. In this time of grief we ask for a little privacy and space to digest this news; our sister was our sun and we are broken by her departure.

Just because someone's dead doesn't mean it's over. My grandfather died more than 25 years ago, but I still think of him a lot and smell his smell.

I'll never forget the first time I saw someone who had died. It was my grandfather. And I knelt next to his coffin. And all I could do was eye level was look at his hands. They were enormous hands. And all I could think was, 'Those hands dug freedom for me.'

My beloved husband goes through radiation, and a book of sonnets is my passionate response. And then after he dies, I write another book of poems as a farewell. The two keywords here are passion and joy. I simply have a passion for writing, and I do it with joy.

We had already planned my wedding when my brother passed away in 2012. When you're grieving, you don't necessarily want to think about something like that, but my brother told me that he wanted me to, so we went ahead and did it.

Obviously, losing a parent is very difficult. I miss my dad every day, but I know he would be proud to see me continuing to swim and going for another shot at the Olympics.

My mother's death brought me to my knees. She was my hero, my role model, my very best friend. I spoke to her every single day of my life. I really tried hard when I grew up to make her proud of me.

My mama loved me more than anybody ever did.

My father has been a voice of encouragement in times of desperation for so many people. But he died when I was so young that, for me, his music has been a way for me to get to know him better.

My mother's cross was given to me when she died. I like to have it always close to me.

The bottom line is that I'm very, very proud of my mom.

I lost my dad two years ago to cancer, and before he died, I asked him to write 'Daddy's Little Girl' on a piece of paper for me. I told him it was for an album. He practiced and practiced and then sent it to me, and I had it tattooed onto my wrist and surprised him with it. He cried when he saw it, happy tears. This way I always carry him with me.

My dad was a man of great wisdom in his short time here.

I think when we lose somebody, when we interact with those things that they also loved - like, you listen to their favorite music, or you read their favorite books - it's just a way to get in touch with them and your memories of them.

I always think of my father when I sing arias about loss and love and longing. It gave me that definite deep sorrow that one can only get from life experience, you know?

When I found out I'd won Book of the Year, the first person I called was my mum, who was so happy she cried on the phone. I did a bit too to be honest.

One day, I was at my grandmother's house, and I found diaries that she kept as a young girl. I opened one to a page that had flowers glued inside. In her childish handwriting, my grandmother wrote, 'Pap died today. I am very sad.' The fact that this was true and that I could see the withered flowers made a huge impression on me.