Martie Maguire Quotes

I used to watch 'Last Comic Standing' with my mom before she passed. So when I got that red envelope, I was extremely emotional.

The littlest thing can have the strongest connection when you're grieving. Your Proustian, poetic nerve is turned up to ten.

In my own life, I find myself doing some task - driving or playing golf - and having a conversation with my mother or father, who are both deceased. I don't know if that means I'm mentally ill, but I suspect lots of people do it. And when I hold that conversation, different images of my parents appear to me.

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.

On 'Heavy Rain,' the game started with something that happened to me when I lost my son, my six-year-old boy, in a mall. I was so scared. I was curious to see if I could create that impression, that fear, in a game, an interactive experience.

I don't know whether there is anyone else at all who remembers my noble father with such sadness.

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've never really had anybody close to me die. I think the song is about a feeling that I have that, it still applies. It's a feeling of longing, once again.

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.'

After my mother died, I found, a little book of hers which recorded everything I had ever done, how I had done it, and how proud she was of her son Conrad.

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.

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.

Not to be weird, but I still have an ongoing relationship with my mom, even though she passed away, and I've been surprised at how much I've been able to convey to her. Now I sound like a total weirdo, but that's true.

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

I did feel when my mother died if anyone was going to haunt me it would be her. And she hasn't, so I think it is possibly the end.

I suppose I often think of my writing as quite impersonal. But it turned out, when my father died, writing was exactly what I wanted to do.

The bottom line is I'm writing to save the dead. I'm writing to save the people I have lost, some of whose bodies are still walking around.

I don't deal with death very well. My brother, John Candy, my dad, my mom, Brandon Tartikoff just a couple of weeks ago. I mean, you lose a lot of people in your life, and that's one thing I am constantly working on - pain management.

I suppose the things you remember about someone who has died are the funny moments. Those are the ones that stand out.

I've had dialogues with my dead mother over the 40 years since she died.

I've had various people close to me die, and I don't necessarily find the idea of death purely depressing.

Grief and memory go together. After someone dies, that's what you're left with. And the memories are so slippery yet so rich.

This house was our dream-the gardens, the study, even the swimming pool. Even though I can't see John when I wake up in the morning, I can always feel him here with me.

Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.

You do not see the river of mourning because it lacks one tear of your own.