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Mourning Quotes

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Mourning Quotes

“Seeing his daughter slowly die, coupled with his infinite sadness and misery, the clockmaker becomes a recluse to the tower of the castle and begins to build something behind closed doors, not even his daughter knows what he’s up to. For five years, she only sees him briefly at meal-times before locking himself up in the tower once again..." "...Did he have a bathroom in the tower?" "Yes, Jack. A big one! En-suite! Power-shower and spa! Where was I!?”

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Book:Hearts Anonymous
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“If grief kills us not, we kill it. Not that I cease to grieve; for each hour, revealing to me how excelling and matchless the being was, who once was mine, but renews the pang with which I deplore my alien state upon earth. But such is God's will; I am doomed to a divided existence, and I submit. Meanwhile I am human; and human affections are the native, luxuriant growth of a heart, whose weakness it is, too eagerly, and too fondly, to seek objects on whom to expend its yearning.”

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Book:The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck: A Romance
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“Tom thought back to the imposing, empty house: to the silence that deadened every room with a subtly different pitch; to the kitchen smelling of carbolic, kept spotless by a long line of housekeepers. He remembered that dreaded smell of Lux flakes, and his distress as he saw the handkerchief, washed and starched by Mrs Someone-or-other, who had discovered it in the pocket of his shorts and laundered it as a matter of course, obliterating his mother’s smell. He had searched the house for some corner, some cupboard which could bring back that blurry sweetness of her. But even in what had been her bedroom, there was only polish, and mothballs, as though her ghost had finally been exorcised.”

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Book:The Light Between Oceans
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“Я не принимал участие ни в каких торжественных мероприятиях [14.10.2016], ни в каких шествиях, парадах. Кстати, мне очень непонятно, чего это вдруг парад "Азова" ― это "парад патриотов"? Тогда парад "Свободы" ― это парад кого... барабанов? Я не пошел ни туда, ни сюда, а вместе со своей семьей сегодня поехал по кладбищам, где похоронены пацаны. Я не патриот? Я разговаривал с семьей на Лесном кладбище, где похоронен боец "Азова" с позывным "Вальтер". Я стоял с его вдовой, с его дочерью, с его братом и женой брата. И никого там больше не было. Ни барабанов, ни факелов. Там вообще никого не было.”

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Author:Георгий Тука
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“Do you have any idea why you might be feeling better?” “No, not really,” I said curtly. Better wasn’t even the word for how I felt. There wasn’t a word for it. It was more that things too small to mention—laughter in the hall at school, a live gecko scurrying in a tank in the science lab—made me feel happy one moment and the next like crying. Sometimes, in the evenings, a damp, gritty wind blew in the windows from Park Avenue, just as the rush hour traffic was thinning and the city was emptying for the night; it was rainy, trees leafing out, spring deepening into summer; and the forlorn cry of horns on the street, the dank smell of the wet pavement had an electricity about it, a sense of crowds and static, lonely secretaries and fat guys with bags of carry-out, everywhere the ungainly sadness of creatures pushing and struggling to live. For weeks, I’d been frozen, sealed-off; now, in the shower, I would turn up the water as hard as it would go and howl, silently. Everything was raw and painful and confusing and wrong and yet it was as if I’d been dragged from freezing water through a break in the ice, into sun and blazing cold.”

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Book:The Goldfinch
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“— O Finn nem parecia se importar de estar morrendo – comentei. E era verdade. Finn estava calmo como sempre até a última vez em que o vi. — Você não sabe? Esse é o segredo. Se você sempre garantir que é exatamente a pessoa que esperava ser, se sempre garantir que conhece apenas as melhores pessoas, então não vai se importar de morrer amanhã. — Isso não faz nenhum sentindo. Se você fosse tão feliz, então iria querer ficar vivo, não iria? Iria querer ficar vivo para sempre, para continuar sendo feliz. — Não, não. São as pessoas mais infelizes que querem ficar vivas, por que acham que não fizeram tudo o que querem fazer. Acham que não tiveram tempo suficiente. Acham que ganharam menos do que mereciam.”

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Book:Tell the Wolves I'm Home
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“[Я] не крещу детей и не хожу на похороны. [...] На похороны не хожу, потому что не могу видеть, как человека хоронят его родственники. Весь этот плач. Все эти эмоции. Это уже церемония. Я для себя похоронила человека, когда увидела его мертвым, когда не смогла его спасти, когда не смогла остановить кровь. Я похоронила человека, я попрощалась с ним в эту минуту. А эти цветы, ямы... Я не хочу, чтобы меня хоронили. Я хочу, чтобы меня сожгли и развеяли пепел над Днепром, чтобы нигде не было моей могилки. Чтобы никто никогда не приходил, не клал цветы, не ходил, не скорбил. Люди должны жить. Живым — жизнь. Мертвым — смерть.”

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Author:Надія Савченко
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“Завтра ми вже будемо мертві Може багато з нас Може всі. Не забирайте нас із землі Не відривайте нас від матері Не збирайте на полі бою наші рештки Не намагайтеся наново скласти нас докупи І — благаємо вас — ніяких хрестів Пам’ятних знаків чи меморіальних плит. Нам це не треба Адже це не для нас — для себе Ви ставите нам величні пам’ятники. Не треба ніде карбувати наших імен. Просто пам’ятайте: На цьому полі У цій землі Лежать українські солдати І — все. [...] Ось в цих окопах Які сьогодні для нас тимчасове житло А завтра стануть нашими могилами Поховайте нас. Не потрібно прощальних промов В тиші яка настає після бою Це завше виглядає недоречно Це наче штурхати загиблого воїна І просити щоб той встав. Не треба панахид Ми й так знаємо де тепер буде наше місце Просто накрийте нас землею І — йдіть.”

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Book:Блокпост
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“Our divorce was an optical illusion, surely, because I am often still there, in my old home with my family. I can so easily fool myself, even without a scope, a lens, a patch of sky to measure my trauma, my blues, my perspective or my period of mourning. Suspension of disbelief can be a very real kind of haunting.”

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Book:Dreaming in Night Vision: A Story in Vignettes
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“In the months that followed my mother's death, I managed to look like a normal person. I walked the street; I answered my phone; I brushed my teeth; most of the time. But I was not OK. I was in grief. Nothing seemed important. Daily tasks were exhausting. Dishes piled in the sink, knives crusted with strawberry jam. At one point I did not wash my hair for ten days. I felt that I had abruptly arrived at a terrible, insistent truth about the impermanence of everyday.”

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Book:The Long Goodbye
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“I sware unto you my furtherance if I prevailed. But now is mine army passed away as wax wasteth before the fire, and I wait the dark ferryman who tarrieth for no man. Yet, since never have I wrote mine obligations in sandy but in marble memories, and since victory is mine, receive these gifts: and first thou, O Brandoch Daha, my sword, since before thou wast of years eighteen thou wast accounted the mightiest among men-at-arms. Mightily may it avail thee, as me in time gone by. And unto thee, O Spitfire, I give this cloak. Old it is, yet may it stand thee in good stead, since this virtue it hath that he who weareth it shall not fall alive into the hand of his enemies. Wear it for my sake. But unto thee, O Juss, give I no gift, for rich thou art of all good gifts: only my good will give I unto thee, ere earth gape for me." ... So they fared back to the spy-fortalice, and night came down on the hills. A great wind moaning out of the hueless west tore the clouds as a ragged garment, revealing the lonely moon that fled naked betwixt them. As the Demons looked backward in the moonlight to where Zeldornius stood gazing on the dead, a noise as of thunder made the firm land tremble and drowned the howling of the wind. And they beheld how earth gaped for Zeldornius.”

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Book:The worm Ouroboros
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“They bewailed innocence maltreated, goodness persecuted, love bleeding, meekness about to die; but my heart has a deeper and more bitter cause to mourn. My sins were the scourges which lacerated those blessed shoulders, and crowned with thorn those bleeding brows: my sins cried “Crucify Him! Crucify Him!” and laid the cross upon His gracious shoulders. His being led forth to die is sorrow enough for one eternity: but my having been His murderer, is more, infinitely more, grief than one poor fountain of tears can express.”

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Author:Charles Haddon Spurgeon
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“That was the first time I experienced the desperate orgiastic pleasure of this form of public mourning: it was the one place where people mingled and touched bodies and shared emotions without restraint or guilt. There was a wild, sexually flavored frenzy in the air. Later, when I saw a slogan by Khomeini saying that the Islamic Republic survives through its mourning ceremonies, I could testify to its truth.”

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Book:Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books
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