Stephen Lewis Quotes

My daughter, Grace, was not killed by a gun. She died suddenly at age 5 from a virulent form of strep. As I stood stunned in a church at her memorial, one of the hardest things I heard someone say was, 'I'm going to go home and hug my child a little tighter.' 'Well, good for you,' I thought. 'I'm going to go home and scream.'

No one can sustain rage for long. I am still angry and always will be. My dear son was stolen from me and his family to never return. He was killed for profit and lies. How can I not be angry? Sometimes though, the rage comes back.

It was the saddest day of my life.

My heart burnt within me with indignation and grief; we could think of nothing else. All night long we had only snatches of sleep, waking up perpetually to the sense of a great shock and grief. Every one is feeling the same. I never knew so universal a feeling.

If I told you the tragedy parts, we'd all sit here and cry.

My father died in my arms. That's tumult. That's everything exploding.

When the baby dies, On every side Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see Her misery.

Every day is a new sense of tearing my heart out of my body again when I see other children who have been killed, and I know what their families are going through.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.

I have shed many tears of pain and indignation.

Slipknot started out of tragedy.

I know what it's like to lose.

I've been blessed in many ways, but none of the heights from football can ever compare to the depths you go through when you lose a child.

Nothing had prepared me for the depth of pain George's death precipitated.

Come all ye that pass by, and see if there is any sorrow like unto my sorrow.

People talk of sorrow as if it is soft, a thing of water and tears. But true sorrow is not soft. True sorrow is a thing of fire, and rock. It burns your heart, crushes your soul under the weight of mountains. It destroys, and even if you keep breathing, keep going, you die.

Disappointment has a name, it's heartbreak

She died on a windy gray day in March when the sky was full of darting crows and the world lay prostrate and defeated after winter. Peter Lake was at her side and it ruined him forever. It broke him as he had not ever imagined he could have been broken. He would never again be young, or able to remember what it was like to be young. What he had once taken to be pleasures would appear to him in his defeat as hideous and deserved punishments for reckless vanity.

Anne, are you killed?' shrieked Diana, throwing herself on her knees beside her friend. 'Oh, Anne, dear Anne, speak just one word to me and tell me if you're killed.

It's kinda hard to be optimistic, When your homies lying dead on the pavement twisted.

We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.

Grief-stricken. Stricken is right; it is as though you had been felled. Knocked to the ground; pitched out of life and into something else.

I cannot tell how much my heart suffered for my people while at Leavenworth.

In the country of pain we are each alone.

Grief is exhausting.