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Mourning Quotes

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Mourning Quotes

“What she had done over the past year had required an equivalent expenditure of energy to a year-long sprint, and when she thought of it that way it was obviously an unreasonable thing to do. Remaining sane--clinging and grasping at it, seeking to please a propriety constructed by people whose boyfriends had never killed themselves--was in fact the most insane thing she could have done, and anyone properly equipped by the right kind of experience would understand that.”

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Book:The Great Night
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“She might do what the mortals did, and strain to convince herself that the death of her Boy and the loss of her husband had happened for some reason, that some restitution would be made for her, that she would be paid for her suffering with a truer and more tolerable understanding of the world, but she didn't think she had the muscles for it.”

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Book:The Great Night
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“People tell you to keep your "courage" up. But the time for courage is when she was sick, when I took care of her and saw her suffering, her sadness, and when I had to conceal my tears. Constantly one had to make a decision, put on a mask and that was courage. --Now, courage means the will to live and there's all too much of that.”

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Book:Mourning Diary: October 26, 1977–September 15, 1979
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“Already, less than a month after her death, I can feel the slow, insidious beginning of a process that will make the H. I think of into a more and more imaginary woman. Founded on fact, no doubt. I shall put in nothing fictitious (or I hope I shan't). But won't the composition inevitably become more and more my own? The reality is no longer there to check me, to pull me up short, as the real H. so often did, so unexpectedly, by being so thoroughly herself and not me.”

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Book:A Grief Observed
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“Mama, I said, and then the crying came. I had not cried since I was sentenced and I had humiliated myself before a judge who didn't care. On that horrible day, my snotty sobbing had merged with Celestial and Olive's morning accompaniment. Now I suffered a cappella; the weeping burned my throat like when you vomit strong liquor. That one word, Mama, was my only prayer as I phrased on the ground like I was feeling the Holy Ghost, only what I was going through wasn't rapture. I spasmed on that cold black earth in pain, physical pain. My joints hurt; I experienced what felt like a baton against the back of my head. It was like I relived every injury of my life.. The pain went on until it didn't. and I say up, dirty and spent.”

GriefMourningGrief And Loss
Book:An American Marriage
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“صمت الروح صمت يصقل الحرف قبل ان اتفوه به. صمت فنجان القهوة قبل ان ارتشفه. صمت الفاجعة. هذا الصمت عندما رنّ الهاتف، ما بعد منتصف الليل وقال لي مواسياً: "لقد حاولنا وخسرناه..." صمت الهاتف عندما اغلقته وتوجهت نحو المطبخ كي اشرب كأس ماء. كأس ماء كي لا اذرف دمعة. على الشرفة يردد المذياع النعوة: "انتقل الى رحمته تعالى المأسوف على شبابه...." هذا الغريب الذي لم انس حتى الآن صوته قال بجمود: "انتقل" ولم يذكر الى اين.. قال: "المأسوف على شبابه" ونسي طفولتي.. ينعون الميت وينسون من يخلف وراءه.. كان أبي يردد: "الحياة زهرية حتّى في حزنها" فارتديت الزهر. تأتي امي ترتدي الاسود وترحل. ترتدي الاسود وتنسى الوصية.”

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Book:سمير
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“الورقة الزرقاء أبي.. ثلاث سنوات انقضت.. ثلاث حيوات. مئتا قصيدة خططتها على الورق. واحدة فقط كانت عنك.. انتظرت ثلاثة دهور كي اكتب.. ثلاثة دهور كي أرمي بورقة زرقاء.. تغيرت ملامح وجهي يا أبي، تقاسيمه تبدلت.. أرق ثلاث سنوات تجمع فيه.. بكاء ألف ليلة وليلة. يا ليتك تدري ما فعلت بي الحياة يا أبي.. يا ريتك تدري كيف حملت الصخور وما زلت أحمل.. وكيف كنت الثور ألف مرة.. وكنت المتادور.. رقصت آلام المسيح يا أبي.. ركضت في الحقول الحمراء من اجل تفاحة واضعتها.. طفتلك ذبحت الطفولة والمراهقة وكل الاعمار فيها.. طفلتك أشجار الزيتون واشجار التين ما زالت تعيش فيها.. وكل حروف الابجدية تنتظر مباركة قصائدها.. تنتظر صعودها على المنبر كي تلقيها.. تركتنا ورحلت.. كل حقائبك ما زالت فينا. أتدري امي يا ابي؟ مشت الى الصين حافية ولم تنطق شفتيها بشكوى. وما زالت تمنع ستارة الحديد عن الانسدال علينا كل حين.. ثروة العالم وكل ملذاته ما عادت تعنيها. لا شئ بات يهز أوتار العود فيها.. اليوم بت أفهم لماذا هي الوحيدة التي قبلت يوماً بالانحناء امامها.. فهي الوحيدة التي اقبل رجليها احتراماً واعجاباً وحباً وتقديراً.. هذه القصيدة ارسلها الى مكتبك في السماء. عساها ترتمي في أحضانك وتنده لك " بابا ".. عساها تتمتم لك أنك الأقوى والأجمل و الأذكى وتحتضنك شوقاً وإخلاصاً..”

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Book:سمير
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“To speak of ‘trying again’ while her ghost was still in the room was an insult to both the child gone before and the child that might come after. The child before might be merely a precursor, a practice run, a whole person deemed sufficiently remembered and loved; while the child after might be a bandaid child, a second child, a replacement child. Without time taken to wait – not until the first child was forgotten but until the hideous burning fire of grief had dulled – neither child could be fully a person, but just a function of the other.”

ChildrenMourningGrief And Loss
Book:The Paper House
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“I saw her tonight. I didn’t mean to and I wasn’t prepared for it. I came across her sweet smiling face and I had no choice but to be confronted with all the emotions and memories I associated with her. It brought me back to this past summer when she passed from this world into the next and how I watched the minutes in the day pass and felt the sorrow of the approaching sunset knowing that darkness would soon follow. There is something profound about the first night after someone you love dies. Seeing her again and mourning the loss of her anew reminded me that we keep too much to ourselves and we let people go without them ever knowing how much they touched us, intrigued us, taught us, or moved us. I’m a firm believer in actions doing the telling, but people need to hear it as well.”

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Author:Donna Lynn Hope
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“My grandmother’s unkindness, for instance, was the result of repressed grief over three deaths: her parents, before she was twelve, and her firstborn child. I don’t recall ever seeing her smile. She was critical of everything and everyone. Table manners, posture, diction, wardrobe. My aunt, her mother’s staunchest defender, often reminded us that my grandmother suffered from accumulated sorrow, bottled up since childhood and cloaked in intellect and intolerance as she grew older. She was never able to grieve fully or mourn the amassed losses, my aunt had said. If we repress our grief, over time, it’s bound to harden the heart.”

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Book:In Lieu of Flowers: A Conversation for the Living
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“I knew from the first glimpse that he was dead. But I ran to him”. There was no way in which to describe his feelings, because he hadn’t had any. The world had simply ceased in that moment, and with it, all his knowledge of how things were done. He simply could not see how life might continue. The first lesson of adult life was it, horribly, did.”

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Book:Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade
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“Первые потери появились и среди российских солдат — на кладбище под Псковом появились свежие могилы десантников, убитых на востоке Украины. Скрывать участие российской армии, по сути, было уже невозможно, но Владимир Путин продолжал отрицать очевидное. В телефонном разговоре с Ангелой Меркель он уверял, что под Донецком только солдаты, которые ушли в отпуск. «Хорошо, а они что, у вас в отпуск прямо с оружием и военной техникой уходят?» — восклицала канцлер. «Ой, вы знаете, у нас в стране такое воровство, такая коррупция. Эта техника наверняка украдена со складов», — не смущаясь, ответил Путин. Меркель повесила трубку. При этом Путин вовсе не считал, что он кого-то обманывает: солдаты, по его мнению, знали, на что шли. 10 сентября, через неделю после окончания боев под Иловайском, он пошел в церковь и, по его словам, «поставил свечки за тех, кто пострадал, защищая людей в Новороссии». Тем самым он отдал дань памяти тех солдат, участие которых в войне Россия до сих пор не признает. Семьям убитых военных выплатили компенсации — при условии, что они не будут разговаривать с журналистами.”

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Book:Вся кремлевская рать: Краткая история современной России
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“I must love and be loved. I must feel that my dear and chosen friends are happier through me. When I have wandered out of myself in my endeavour to shed pleasure around, I must again return laden with the gathered sweets on which I feed and live. Permit this to be, unblamed—permit a heart whose sufferings have been, and are, so many and so bitter, to reap what joy it can from the necessity it feels to be sympathized with—to love.”

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Book:The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck: A Romance
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“instead of mourning, instead of a moment of silence or a hateful, islamophobic message, how about today we make the world a little brighter? be kinder. be a little gentler, with yourself and others. take more pictures. tell more jokes. be a better human. today is a lot more than a tragedy. today is a birthday. a day of suicide awareness. a wedding. a birth. a new job. today is a kiss and someone on a tarred over warehouse roof whispering about the day the earth stood still and the day it began spinning again. be kind. just be kind. it's time we took this day back for the wild ones, for the fiery eyes, for the happy and the brave and the new. no more mourning. let it just be a sunday.”

LossGriefTerrorismMoving ForwardMourningNonfictionSeptember 119 11Take Your Power Back
Book:calloused: a field journal
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“BERNARDA.— Las mujeres en la iglesia no deben mirar más hombre que al oficiante, y a ése porque tiene faldas. Volver la cabeza es buscar el calor de la pana. MUJER 1.— (En voz baja) ¡Vieja lagarta recocida! LA PONCIA.— (Entre dientes) ¡Sarmentosa por calentura de varón! BERNARDA.— (Dando un golpe de bastón en el suelo) ¡Alabado sea Dios! TODAS.— (Santiguándose) Sea por siempre bendito y alabado.”

ReligionHonorTheaterTheatreMourningHonourSpainEspañaTeatroTheatre PlaysSpanish Literature30sLa Casa De Bernarda Alba
Book:La casa de Bernarda Alba
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