Gayle Forman Quotes

Never does one feel oneself so utterly helpless as in trying to speak comfort for great bereavement.

I know what you go through when you learn someone close to you has died.

I don't have anybody to weep for me, except my mother.

Life Lesson 3: You can't rush grief. It has its own timetable. All you can do is make sure there are lots of soft places around - beds, pillows, arms, laps.

grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell a house that blows into the air at the slightest gust that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping

I have to say that since my mother died, I am not the same person anymore. My life has changed a great deal because it's really unbearable to think you can't see her anymore or talk to her anymore.

When someone dies, it is like when your house burns down; it isn't for years that you realize the full extent of your loss.

Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.

It's a blessing not to be alone in your grief but it's also painful to see your parents and siblings in pain.

Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved

I miss her all the time. I know in my head that she has gone. the only difference is that I am getting used to the pain. It's like discovering a great hole in the ground. To begin with, you forget it's there and keep falling in. After a while, it's still there, but you learn to walk round it.

She heard him mutter, 'Can you take away this grief?' 'I'm sorry,' she replied. 'Everyone asks me. And I would not do so even if I knew how. It belongs to you. Only time and tears take away grief; that is what they are for.

I lost my brother when he was 30, and that was devastating for me. I don't know if I will ever get over it.

One of the wonderful things about this glorious holiday trip I'm on is that I'm in public with people. It hasn't been inclined... I don't know - something to do with the death of my wife. It's inclined to make me isolated.

I don't mourn the dead. I mourn the living.

People in grief need someone to walk with them without judging them.

We are all victims because of the circumstances, but I'm not sure what to say to any one who has lost a loved one. I know the feeling myself, and words just don't do much to ease the pain.

We should not clap our hands and mourn, for he is out of trouble. You are still in it.

Bereavement is terrible, of course. And when somebody you love dies, it's a time for reflection, a time for memory, a time for regret.

I guess, over time, I had convinced myself that I could imagine what it would be like to lose a son or daughter. You try to imagine it so that you can write the right kind of letters or form the right words to try to comfort. But you can't even come close. It is unimaginable.

A fundamental and unfortunate part of being alive is to suffer loss and to suffer grief.

Losing someone you love is tough.

When anyone dies, it's sad.

None of us are immune to grief, and everyone who has suffered loss understands that grief changes, but you never wake up one morning and you've moved on. It stays with you, and, you know, you ebb and flow.

I am deeply pained after learning about the death of Pravin Chougule.