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Grief And Loss Quotes

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Grief And Loss Quotes

“Letting grief become action is about the body. It’s literally about taking grief outside of yourself and letting grief’s emotions and identities be expressed in the physical world around you. Whether there are witnesses or not, it’s tangible evidence that grief has called you to make or do something. The act of doing something is a visible marker that grief has had and is continuing to have an impact on your life.”

“Life’s nothing but saying good-bye, if you care to look at it that way.” “Oh god,” I say with a shiver. “I don’t.” “Me, either, but sometimes you can’t seen any alternative.” “So then what do you do?” “What I do is try to stick myself into it more. If I’m the one who has to let go, then I try to do it, not have it done to me. It doesn’t hurt as much that way, plus you can learn something in the process.” “I Guess.” “Not that learning something does you any good next time. You think it will but it doesn’t. Oh, honey, we just have to go through it all.”

“Helen looked around the room as though if he just looked too, he would see it. Would see the memories that she faced in every corner. She wanted to explain, but instead, her mind darted to the last time she had visited home, the Christmas before when she and her parents had only given gifts to fill the bomb shelter. The bleakness of war had penetrated their house that night, the depressing presents and rationed food nothing compared to the vacant seats around the table. The quietness had choked them. Now its fingers curled only around her throat.”

“I think perhaps I will always hold a candle for you – even until it burns my hand. And when the light has long since gone …. I will be there in the darkness holding what remains, quite simply because I cannot let go.”

“I wanted to honor her with the music we had shared. She used to listen to me play, correct me, encourage me. She was like a teacher, but better. She was my support, and she truly loved my music. She didn’t know it, but I played for her. To make her happy. To keep her close. When the melody ended, I played it again and again until my fingers hurt so badly I could no longer continue. And in that moment I realized I would never be able to play the piano the same way again. Every note had been for her. Every sound had been about her. Now it all felt empty, suddenly stripped of meaning.”

“If you’re searching for a quote that puts your feelings into words – you won’t find it. You can learn every language and read every word ever written – but you’ll never find what’s in your heart. How can you? He has it.”

“A ligação estreita entre a morte e a tristeza é uma opinião ingênua. As lágrimas dos vivos, em resposta à sua chegada, têm um sentido nada oposto à alegria. Longe de serem dolorosas, as lágrimas são a expressão de uma consciência aguda da vida em comum captada na sua intimidade. É certo que é no momento em que a ausência segue repentinamente a presença que essa consciência é mais aguda, como na morte ou na simples separação, e nesse caso, o consolo (no sentido profundo que os místicos davam aos «consolos») está amargamente ligado ao facto de não poder durar, mas é precisamente o desaparecimento da duração, e com ela os comportamentos neutros que a acompanham, que destapa um fundo das coisas cujo ofuscamento cega (por outras palavras, é evidente que a necessidade da duração nos rouba a vida, e que só, em principio, a impossibilidade da duração nos liberta). Noutros casos as lágrimas respondem ao triunfo inesperado, à sorte que nos faz exultar, mas sempre de modo insensato, muito além da preocupação com o tempo futuro.”

“Shen Qiao did not move for a long time, in these moments, the glint and noise around him faded, he held the slowly cooling body of Yu Ai, his head bowed, no one knew what he was thinking. Maybe it was a scene from all those years ago, he and his martial siblings on the mountain eating and sleeping in sync, training together. And yet past dreams sought, people departed, what has passed will never return. Just like some errors have no way of being remedied, some cracks will forever persist, and death, impossible to wake from.”

“Oh I'll die I'll die I'll die My skin is in blazing furore I do not know what I'll do where I'll go oh I am sick I'll kick all Arts in the butt and go away Shubha Shubha let me go and live in your cloaked melon In the unfastened shadow of dark destroyed saffron curtain The last anchor is leaving me after I got the other anchors lifted I can't resist anymore, a million glass panes are breaking in my cortex I know, Shubha, spread out your matrix, give me peace Each vein is carrying a stream of tears up to the heart Brain's contagious flints are decomposing out of eternal sickness other why didn't you give me birth in the form of a skeleton I'd have gone two billion light years and kissed God's ass But nothing pleases me nothing sounds well I feel nauseated with more than a single kiss I've forgotten women during copulation and returned to the Muse In to the sun-coloured bladder I do not know what these happenings are but they are occurring within me I'll destroy and shatter everything draw and elevate Shubha in to my hunger Shubha will have to be given Oh Malay Kolkata seems to be a procession of wet and slippery organs today But i do not know what I'll do now with my own self My power of recollection is withering away Let me ascend alone toward death I haven't had to learn copulation and dying I haven't had to learn the responsibility of shedding the last drops after urination Haven't had to learn to go and lie beside Shubha in the darkness Have not had to learn the usage of French leather while lying on Nandita's bosom Though I wanted the healthy spirit of Aleya's fresh China-rose matrix Yet I submitted to the refuge of my brain's cataclysm I am failing to understand why I still want to live I am thinking of my debauched Sabarna-Choudhury ancestors I'll have to do something different and new Let me sleep for the last time on a bed soft as the skin of Shubha's bosom I remember now the sharp-edged radiance of the moment I was born I want to see my own death before passing away The world had nothing to do with Malay Roychoudhury Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm Would I have been like this if I had different parents? Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm? Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father? Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha? Oh, answer, let somebody answer these Shubha, ah Shubha Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen Come back on the green mattress again As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of a magnet's brilliance I remember the letter of the final decision of 1956 The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time Fine rib-smashing roots were descending in to your bosom Stupid relationship inflated in the bypass of senseless neglect Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I do not know whether I am going to die Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience I'll disrupt and destroy I'll split all in to pieces for the sake of Art There isn't any other way out for Poetry except suicide Shubha Let me enter in to the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora In to the absurdity of woeless effort In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra? Why wasn't I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition? Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum -flux or in the phlegm? With her eyes shut supine beneath me I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize S”

“A memory comes up and you brace yourself. What will it be? Something that makes you cry? So what if it makes you cry? Why do you judge your tears? That’s another lie that someone told you. That tears are bad. That tears are a sign of weakness. Tears are a sign of life and love and like the spring rains that wash away the harshness of winter they nourish and clear the way for regeneration. Tears are a part of life. Sadness and sorrow are a part of life. Are you willing to cut off the life we shared together simply because you do not want to feel your sorrow or the wet tears upon your face?”

“I realized that it was not Ko-san, now safely ditched for ever, but Ko-san's mother who stood in need of pity and consideration. She must still live on in this hard unpitying world, but he, once he had jumped [in battle], had jumped beyond such things. The case could well have been different, had he never jumped; but he did jump; and that, as they say, is that. Whether this world's weather turns out fine or cloudy no more worries him; but it matters to his mother. It rains, so she sits alone indoors thinking about Ko-san. And now it's fine, so she potters out and meets a friend of Ko-san's. She hangs out the national flag to welcome the returned soliders, but her joy is made querulous with wishing that Ko-san were alive. At the public bath-house, some young girl of marriageable age helps her to carry a bucket of hot water: but her pleasure from that kindness is soured as she thinks if only I had a daughter-in-law like this girl. To live under such conditions is to live in agonies. Had she lost one out of many children, there would be consolation and comfort in the mere fact of the survivors. But when loss halves a family of just one parent and one child, the damage is as irreparable as when a gourd is broken clean across its middle. There's nothing left to hang on to. Like the sergeant's mother, she too had waited for her son's return, counting on shriveled fingers the passing of the days and nights before that special day when she would be able once more to hang on him. But Ko-san with the flag jumped resolutely down into the ditch and still has not climbed back.”

“If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard. And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.”

“It’s painful, loving someone from afar. Watching them – from the outside. The once familiar elements of their life reduced to nothing more than occasional mentions in conversations and faces changing in photographs….. They exist to you now as nothing more than living proof that something can still hurt you … with no contact at all.”

“I had someone once who made every day mean something. And now…. I am lost…. And nothing means anything anymore.”