Gregory Maguire Quotes

With you a part of me hath passed away; For in the peopled forest of my mind A tree made leafless by this wintry wind Shall never don again its green array. Chapel and fireside, country road and bay, Have something of their friendliness resigned; Another, if I would, I could not find, And I am grown much older in a day. But yet I treasure in my memory Your gift of charity, and young hearts ease, And the dear honour of your amity; For these once mine, my life is rich with these. And I scarce know which part may greater be,-- What I keep of you, or you rob from me.

The punctuation of anniversaries is terrible, like the closing of doors, one after another between you and what you want to hold on to.

MUSIC I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate, All that was once so beautiful is dead. Your hands once touched this table and this silver,And I have seen your fingers hold this glass. These things do not remember you, beloved: And yet your touch upon them will not pass. For it was in my heart you moved among them,And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes.And in my heart they will remember always: They knew you once, O beautiful and wise!

Everyone I have lost in the closing of a door the click of the lock is not forgotten, they do not die but remain within the soft edges of the earth, the ash of house fires and cancer in sin and forgiveness huddled under old blankets dreaming their way into my hands, my heart closing tight like fists. - "Indian Boy Love Song #1

Night is the time to weep,To wet with unseen tearsThose graves of memory where sleepThe joys of other years.

I wondered if there would ever be a day when I didn't think about Alaska, wondered whether I should hope for a time when she would be a distant memory - recalled only on the anniversary of her death, or maybe a couple of weeks after, remembering only after having forgotten.

Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

For years I have been mourning and not for my dead, it is for this boy for whatever corner in my heart died when his childhood slid out of my arms.

In 1957's 'There's No You,' Sinatra is suspended at the intersection of a loss he can't face and a memory he can't relinquish.

I think whenever you lose somebody close to you, there's always a part of you that wishes you could have done something differently.

In grief, after even the happiest of relationships, we go over things again and again.

I very much loved my late wife, Diana Joy Colbert, and I'd rather hold onto what I can.

There are moments when the grief comes bubbling up. The first time I saw Chris's chair empty, that was really hard. And it was hard when I started folding up some of his sweaters that I so imagine him wearing.

When I held in my hands the remains of Gunther, I had a strong feeling, like a phantom pain of an amputee.

I haven't dated anyone in the ten years since we lost Steve just because I feel a connection still with Steve.

When he died, he took a big piece of me with him. I'm sure that every time I do something, I'll think about having done it with Hef.

Memory is the only friend of grief.

For grief is felt not so much for the want of what we have never known, as for the loss of that to which we have been long accustomed.

I was right when I said I'd never look back. It hurts too much, it drags at your heart till you can't ever do anything else except look back.

We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren't, or of moments that could have been found but were forever hidden in the sands.

Fathers die.You keep on loving them in any way you can.You can't hide him away in your heart.

Remember when i slept with my head in a puddle at your feet? It was humility, or atonement. later your ankle was a pillow and finally you pulled me up and in my sleep i placed your hand above my heart, like i forgot i didn't live there anymore

The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.

I know that something dies when i give up my books, and that my memory keeps going back to them with mournful nostalgia.

The brooding is better than the joy because even if the heart fills with happiness, it still mourns.