Browsing Topic Best Mourning Quotes

Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.

The true way to mourn the dead is to take care of the living who belong to them.

Grief is not a disorder, a disease or sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness

Despair … is the only cure for illusion. Without despair we cannot transfer our allegiance to reality – it’s a kind of mourning period for our fantasies. Some people do not survive this despair, but no major change within a person can occur without it.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Though lovers be lost love shall not.

Depression leads him close to his wounds, but only the mourning for what he has missed, missed at the crucial time, can lead to real healing.

What is required to face trauma is the ability to mourn, fully and deeply, all that has been taken from us. Only through mourning everything we have lost can we discover that we have in fact survived; that our spirits are indestructible.

Honor thy Father and thy Mother was once said, but then someone said: What if I don’t know your Father? A still voice said: Does that makes him the devil? He is still someone’s Father, his name has been changed, but his story is the same. Why hate when we should Celebrate. In this world of two’s, you got the Mourning Son, and the Daughter of the Night. They both equal light once you make it through the night. Now, wake the funk up!

In fact, with Michael Jackson, I think those mourning people… They aren’t even waking Michael, they’re waking the Michael Jackson of ’84. They never were given a chance to give their respects to the death of the guy they loved back in ’84.

Temporary feelings of regret are a normal part of the mourning process. This helps us retrieve our lost dreams. If we hold on to regret, we risk trapping ourselves in a prison of unrealized dreams from which it is difficult to escape.

I’ve got to worry about Alonzo Mourning, because a year or two ago there was a chance that Alonzo Mourning wouldn’t be standing here talking to you. That’s the cold reality of it.

Try to be forgotten. Go live in the country. Stay in mourning for two years, then remarry, but choose somebody decent.

Family members have a personal stake in honoring and mourning their dead and objecting to unwarranted public exploitation that, by intruding upon their own grief, tends to degrade the rites and respect they seek to accord to the deceased person who was once their own.

I have never been able to think of the day as one of mourning; I have never quite been able to feel that half-masted flags were appropriate on Decoration Day. I have rather felt that the flag should be at the peak, because those whose dying we commemorate rejoiced in seeing it where their valor placed it. We honor them in a joyous, thankful, triumphant commemoration of what they did.

Ruins stood for what was lost, and yet there were beautiful-peaceful, historic, intellectual. Not tragic or regrettable. Lena tried to keep hers that way too, and she succeeded to some extent. Why not celebrate what you had rather than spend your time mourning its passing? There could be joy in things that ended.

An unchangeable colour rules over the melancholic: his dwelling is a space the colour of mourning. Nothing happens in it. No one intrudes. It is a bare stage where the inert I is assisted by the I suffering from that inertia. The latter wishes to free the former, but all efforts fail, as Theseus would have failed had he been not only himself but also the Minotaur; to kill him then, he would have had to kill himself

To die quickly in one’s eighth decade at the very top of one’s powers is an enviable end, and not an occasion for mourning.

In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

Mourn if you must, but don’t stop fighting.

I’m just a butterfly, a mourning cloak, sealed inside a cocoon with blnd eyes and stiky wings. And suddenly I wonder if the cocoons sometimes do not open, if the butterfly inside is ever simply not strong enough to break through.

You do not see the river of mourning because it lacks one tear of your own.

On a day of burial there is no perspective–for space itself is annihilated. Your dead friend is still a fragmentary being. The day you bury him is a day of chores and crowds, of hands false or true to be shaken, of the immediate cares of mourning. The dead friend will not really die until tomorrow, when silence is round you again. Then he will show himself complete, as he was–to tear himself away, as he was, from the substantial you. Only then will you cry out because of him who is leaving and whom you cannot detain.

I’m in mourning for my life.

Well, when Eleanor Roosevelt’s mother dies, she goes to live with her Grandmother Hall. And her Grandmother Hall is in mourning. She’s in widow’s weeds. She’s in her 50s, but appears very old. And she’s exhausted from raising rather out-of-control children. Her favorite daughter, Anna, has died (Eleanor’s mother), and she has living at home two other sons, Vallie and Eddie. And they are incredible sportsmen, incredible drinkers, out-of-control alcoholics.

I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.

Sydney discovers that she minds the loss of her mourning. When she grieved, she felt herself to be intimately connected to Daniel. But with each passing day, he floats away from her. When she thinks about him now, it is more as a lost possibility than as a man. She has forgotten his breath, his musculature.

Over the last 10 years, there have been so many incredible albums created in bedrooms by people who never would’ve gotten an album deal. People keep thinking of professional music studios like they’ve always been this way for hundreds of years, but they’re very much a child of the 70s. Even the interior is very 70s. Everything’s brown and it’s wood – somebody told me the wood panels are all by the same company. We’re always mourning things that have died. It’s a bit much sometimes. These studios have no fresh air, and there’s this unwritten rule that they don’t have windows, either.

All Americans mourn the passing of the author of the Declaration of Independence, George Jefferson.

Why do we not care to acknowledge them? The cattle, the body count. We still don’t like to admit the war was even partly our fault because so many of our people died. A photograph on every mantlepiece. And all this mourning has veiled the truth. It’s not so much lest we forget, as lest we remember. Because you should realise the Cenotaph and the Last Post and all that stuff is concerned, there’s no better way of forgetting something than by commemorating it.

Today, the world lost a creative icon. Michelle and I join millions of fans from around the world in mourning the sudden death of Prince.

Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn’t magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.

Black for hunting through the night For death and mourning the color’s white Gold for a bride in her wedding gown And red to call the enchantment down White silk when our bodies burn Blue banners when the lost return Flame for the birth of a Nephilim And to wash away our sins. Gray for the knowledge best untold Bone for those who don’t grow old Saffron lights the victory march Green to mend our broken hearts Silver for the demon towers And bronze to summon wicked powers -Shadowhunter children’s rhyme

I am content to live and die as the mere repeater of Scriptural teaching – as a person who has thought out nothing and invented nothing – but who concluded that he was to take the message from the lips of God to the best of his ability and simply to be a mouth for God to the people. – mourning much that anything of his own should come between – but never thinking that he was somehow to refine the message or to adapt it to the brilliance of this wonderful century and then to hand it out as being so much his own that he might take some share of the glory of it.