Aberjhani Quotes

Bereavement is the deepest initiation into the mysteries of human life, an initiation more searching and profound than even happy love.

Love is the funeral of hearts.

I watched her die many times. In my way, not in hers. In sunlight, in shadow, by moonlight, by candlelight. In the long afternoons when the house was empty. Only the sun was there to keep us company. We shut him out. And why not? Very soon she was as eager for what's called loving as I was - more lost and drowned afterwards.

There's a moment when love makes you believe in death for the first time. You recognize the one whose loss, even contemplated, you'll carry forever, like a sleeping child. All grief, anyone's grief...is the weight of a sleeping child.

We understand death only after it has placed its hands on someone we love.

Then he looked by him, and was ware of a damsel that came riding as fast as her horse might gallop upon a fair palfrey. And when she espied that Sir Lanceor was slain, then she made sorrow out of measure, and said, O Balin ! two bodies hast thou slain and one heart, and two hearts in one body, and two souls thou hast lost.

Futility Move him into the sun - Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds, - Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides, Full-nerved -still warm -too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? -O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?

I remember burying a girl fourteen years of age who had died with a ruptured appendix... I buried a good many people that I knew, some of whom I loved.

Everybody has lost somebody that they care about, or hopefully you haven't, but that's part of life.

I was slapped down to the ground when my son Wade died in 1996, in April of 1996.

When you lose a person you love so much, surviving the loss is difficult.

It is possible to take something beautiful and lasting out of the heart-wrenching experience of seeing the animal you love move inexorably toward death.

In poetry you can express almost inexpressible feelings. You can express the pain of loss, you can express love. People always turn to poetry when someone they love dies, when they fall in love.

Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.

Poets have always celebrated grief as one of the deepest human emotions.

Time is the only comforter for the loss of a mother.

I admit that death is not just about you, it's also about the people who love you.

Grief is the price we pay for love.

I lost my parents very early in my life. My mom died three weeks after I graduated from high school, and my dad died two years after I got married.

Death belongs to the dying and those who love them.

Left love behind many years ago. Now it rests under a cross in the cemetery in Tombstone.

Words do not pay for my dead people.

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

The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.

We all have that burning question about what happens if we lose somebody we love, especially if we lose them tragically. We wonder what fear was going on, we wonder if we could have reached out and touched them, held their hand, looked in their eyes, been there.