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Quote by George B. Handley

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Home Waters: A Year of Recompenses on the Provo River

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George B. Handley

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“THE ONES WE LOSE The ones we lose Take more than themselves with them As they leave, they steal parts of you That you will never grow back Like a tree pruned too much Your blossoms are fruitless But you will heal No matter if it was peaceful, Senseless, Violent Show me your hands When you leave I want to see the parts of me that also disappear”

LoveDeathLossGriefPoemSuicideDeath And DyingDeath Of A Loved OneDeath QuotesTrishanorth
Book:To Those Who Die Awake
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“THE BRIGHT ONES Even the bright ones lose their glow Even the royal lose their throne Even the dancer’s feet grow sore I can see your spirit elevated In a majestic leap toward the sky I can understand now Why we wish upon the stars at night Sometimes the ones we love wait quiet Sometimes we lose them in an instant Sometimes we don’t understand the reason I can see your mind reeling Pictures scattered across the floor It should comfort us These memories But right now I want to wage a war Even the bright ones lose their glow”

DeathSuicideMourningDeath And DyingDeath Of A Loved OneDeath QuotesLoss QuotesSuicide QuotesTrisha NorthIn Memoriam
Book:To Those Who Die Awake
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“The geese are all asleep. A few tip their heads out from under their wings as we approach. I open the cookie tin and a few more sway slowly over to us. It’s cold, and Silas has wrapped the green blanket around me so I feel like I have wings, too. I shake the tin and walk backward in a circle around them. The ground is warmer than the air and warmer still where the geese have been sleeping. The ashes fall out evenly onto the grass. They peck at the silver flakes, their beaks moving like machines, faster than the eyes can register. More join them, they don't fight, there is enough to go around. I hold the blanket open for Silas and he slips beside me and pulls it closed. "Is this weird?" "Yeah," he says. He puts his lips in my hair. "I love weird." They peck and naw for a long time. There's not much left when they are done. They putter around for a while on their wide rubber feet, their necks look made of fur not feathers. A few are trying to sleep, curtsying to the ground and burying their heads between the folded wings on their backs. I’ll miss them when they take flight. I won’t be there. Their fast excited chatter, their wings finally spread wide, their feet tucking in behind them. Wheels up. I’ll miss it. I’ll be in class or at my desk or in bed when they cut across the sky. "I want them to go right now." "I know," Silas says. "They'll go when they're ready." A book in the library said that some Canadian Geese may travel as far as Jalisco, Mexico. My mother will like that. The long, exhilirating trip, the foreign landing. But others, the book said, will stay where they are for the winter. Those geese are already home.”

InspirationalDeath Of A Loved One
Book:Writers & Lovers
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“People reply in a lot of ways when they learn a loved one has died. “I’m sorry for your loss” is the most prevalent, followed by, “You must miss them.” But the truth is that they’re not sorry. And the hurt doesn’t lessen just because they apologize or even acknowledge the pain. And when they try to give advice—like the fact that time heals all, and you’ll feel better, just give it a while—they’re wrong. It will always hurt so fucking much, it just won’t hurt as often.”

Death Of A Loved One
Book:Midnight Kisses
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“In Sri Lanka, nothing succeeds like death-it is the ultimate validation. The man you hate in life becomes instantly your idol in death. Any neglected artist can take heart; reviled whilst alive, he only has to wait patiently for death to become the national hero he has always yearned to be.”

DeathLossDeath Of A Loved OneSri LankaDeath Of A ParentAshok FerreySri Lankan AuthorsThe Unmarriageable Man
Book:The Unmarriageable Man: A Novel
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“Ognuno ha il suo monumento di parole e di ricordi, ma qui non si sa scrivere e le parole non scritte son già scancellate e i ricordi muoiono con la morte di chi ricorda: la morte di un uomo, in queste parti del mondo dove non c'è tradizione scritta, non è soltanto la morte di quell'uomo, ma anche di tutti i parenti morti che lui nella sua mente conteneva. Lui viene a sua volta ricordato e contenuto nella mente di coloro che gli vogliono bene. Andare verso la morte è come camminare tenendosi per mano e formando una catena. L'umanità sarà giusta quando la catena stringerà tutti gli uomini, allora la storia avrà un senso positivo, cioè collettivo.”

Death Of A Loved OneLetteratura Italiana
Book:Un altare per la madre
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“न होना तेरा कभी सबब नहीं था मेरी उदासी का आज क्यूँ फिर खल रहा है तेरा यूँ वक़्त से पहले गुज़र जाना ? वो आया और आकर चला गया तोड़ गया सब्र के मेरे सारे बाँध हाँ, वही था वह ! वही चिर-परिचित साया तेरा !”

Death Of A Loved One
Book:Ek Anuja
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