His blue eyes were seas where sorrow sailed.
Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.
The death of a beloved is an amputation.
I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I'm miserable now.
Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.
I'm in mourning for my life.
My heart is broken by the terrible loss I have sustained in my old friends and companions and my poor soldiers. Believe me, nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won.
There is much pain that is quite noiseless; and vibrations that make human agonies are often a mere whisper in the roar of hurrying existence. There are glances of hatred that stab and raise no cry of murder; robberies that leave man or woman for ever beggared of peace and joy, yet kept secret by the sufferer --committed to no sound except that of low moans in the night, seen in no writing except that made on the face by the slow months of suppressed anguish and early morning tears. Many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed into no human ear.
There was a hole inside her, and it twisted.
I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.
To lose a friend is the greatest of all losses.
There is a deep sadness to American poverty, greater than the sadness of any other kind. It's because America has such an ideology of success.
Sorrow is one of the vibrations that prove the fact of living.
A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear, A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet or relief, In word, or sigh, or tear.
She could not mourn. She could no longer weep grasping the essence of annihilation, she wished only to cease, to be no more, as if sunk in some profound sleep devoid of wakening.
The one thing I’d learned was that having someone with you all the time did not take away the loneliness. You could be surrounded by people and be lonely. Something was missing. I could almost pinpoint it, but right when it was within my grasp I forgot; it just slipped away.
Light griefs do speak, while sorrow's tongue is bound.
I've definitely had the long stretches of time in my personal life where I've felt an intense loneliness and a desperation to feel something real and to have something that truly meant something in my life.
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
It's not a cry you can hear at night. It's not somebody who has seen the light. It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.
My mind goes to tragedy first.
You left ground and sky weeping, mind and soul full of grief. No one can take your place in existence or in absence.
Sorrow is the great idealizer.
Blue. My God! I'm so blue that if I were a dog, I'd sit on my haunches and howl and howl and howl...
grief is a house where the chairs have forgotten how to hold us the mirrors how to reflect us the walls how to contain us 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 grief is a house where no on can protect you where the younger sister will grow older than the older one where the doors no longer let you in or out
