#gr

We suddenly feel fearful and apprehensive, naked in our perishable flesh, and for just a moment we wish we could go back to being stone—crumbling in death rather than rotting, trapped inside an immobile prison of stone rather than reduced to immaterial souls like those that now rattled within our skulls. The moment passes. There is no point in regretting irreversible decisions—one has to live with them, and we try. ↗

— Ekaterina Sedia

#decisions #mortality #regret #souls #death

Everyone was eating, talking softly, glancing at me, hugging me, eating. It was as if someone had turned the volume down. Everything looked normal, but the sound was muted. Death did this, set all this weirdness in motion, made people appear out of nowhere carrying casseroles, saying 'I'm sorry' over and over, death muffled their voices. ↗

— Joan Abelove

#funerals #grief #grieving #death

June is gone. For the first time, the enormity of that hits me. Every muscle aches, my heart most of all. I am throbbing with how much I miss her. It hurts worse than anything. I don't know how I'm supposed to be expected to live day to day carrying this kind of pain. I don't know how I'm supposed to go out there, spread her ashes, and let her go. I want to stop running away from everything. I want to find something to run toward. ↗

— Hannah Harrington

#grief #loss #death

One grave in every graveyard belongs to the ghouls. Wander any graveyard long enough and you will find it - water stained and bulging, with cracked or broken stone, scraggly grass or rank weeds about it, and a feeling, when you reach it, of abandonment. It may be colder than the other gravestones, too, and the name on the stone is all too often impossible to read. If there is a statue on the grave it will be headless or so scabbed with fungus and lichens as to look like fungus itself. If one grave in a graveyard looks like a target for petty vandals, that is the ghoul-gate. If the grave wants to make you be somewhere else, that is the ghoul-gate. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#death #graveyard #death

The enormous lake stretched flat and smooth and white all the way to the edge of the gray sky. Wagon tracks went away across it, so far that you could not see where they went; they ended in nothing at all. ↗

— Laura Ingalls Wilder

#away #could #edge #ended #enormous

I gave them hope, and so turned away their eyes from death ↗

— Aeschylus

#inspirational #death

Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back -- to be sucked back -- into it? ↗

— C.S. Lewis

#grief #grieving #loss #stillbirth #death

The deepest of level of communication is not communication, but communion. It is wordless ... beyond speech ... beyond concept. ↗

— Thomas Merton

#integration #unity #communication

Regret is the sound of the ghosts of our own making. I will live with mine until I die. ↗

— T.A. Webb

#regrets #death

Peabody, you never cease to amaze me." "One day I'll tell you about my granny and her five lovers." "Five lovers isn't abnormal for a woman's lifetime." "Not in her lifetime; last month. All at the same time." Peabody glanced up, deadpan. "She's ninety-eight. I hope to take after her. ↗

— J.D. Robb

#grandmother #lovers #death