All Quotes By Tag: Grief

“Then the pulse.Then a pause.Then twilight in a box.Dusk underfoot.Then generations.—Then the same war by a different name.Wine splashing in the bucket.The erection, the era.Then exit Reason.Then sadness without reason.Then the removal of the ceiling by hand.—Then pages & pages of numbers.Then the page with the faint green stain.Then the page on which Prince Theodore, gravely wounded, is thrown onto a wagon.Then the page on which Masha weds somebody else.Then the page that turns to the story of somebody else.Then the page scribbled in dactyls.Then the page which begins Exit Angel.Then the page wrapped around a dead fish.Then the page where the serfs reach the ocean.Then a nap.Then the peg.Then the page with the curious helmet.Then the page on which millet is ground.Then the death of Ursula.Then the stone page they raised over her head.Then the page made of grass which goes on.—Exit Beauty.—Then the page someone folded to mark her place.Then the page on which nothing happens.The page after this page.Then the transcript.Knocking within.Interpretation, then harvest.—Exit Want.Then a love story.Then a trip to the ruins.Then & only then the violet agenda.Then hope without reason.Then the construction of an underground passage between us.Srikanth Reddy, “Burial Practice” from Facts for Visitors. Copyright © 2004 by the Regents of the University of California. Reprinted by permission of The University of California Press. Source: Facts for Visitors (University of California Press, 2004)”

“Poem (Internal Scene) To make beauty out of pain, it damns the eyes—No, dams the eyes. See how they overflow?No damns them, damns them, and so they cry.What shape can I swallow to make me whole?Baby’s bird-shaped block, blue-painted woodThat fits in the bird-hole of the painted wood box?The skeleton leaf? The skeleton key? LoudKnock when the shape won’t unlock any locks.I hear it through the static in the baby’s roomWhen the monitor clicks on and off, soundOf sea-ice cracking against the jagged sea-rocks,Laughing gull in the gale. What is it dives downPast sight, down there dark with the other blocks?It can’t be seen, only heard. A kind of curse,This kind curse. Forgive me. Blessing that hurts.”

“Although they remain silent companions throughout my life, I feel their absence the most when I’m happiest. I know it seems strange, even counterintuitive. It’s hard to explain…. I guess that I wish they could be part of those moments—or perhaps the happy moments, instances of life going on without them, come with the fear of losing their constant presence in my thoughts and the knowledge that, in a way, they are being left behind…. In a way, grief reassures me that I still love them as much as when they were here, and that through me some part of them still exists in this world….”

“The young, thought Sharma, have this ability to suffer much in the time of grief, unlike the old who have seen enough sorrow and know it shall not stay forever. The young hardly know grief is like a thunderstorm. It comes whispering softly at first, a distant hum, a halo of vehemence in the sky, and then there is a sudden, violent, and copious outpouring; that drenches everything that comes in its way. It darkens the sky and turns every inch of green terrain dusky grey. But they don’t realize its ferocity will become less with the lapse of time, and the sun will shine bright and warm, and wash the land golden, and no one would be able to tell there had been a storm. They scarcely understand this essential unfolding of grief isn’t meant to last forever, and eventually, it shall come to pass.”

“Slow progress is still progress.”

“If it is possible to die of grief then why on earth can’t someone be healed by happiness?”

“We don’t, not any of us, get to this point clean. No. We’re all dirty and ragged. Rough edges and sharp corners. Fault lines and demolition zones. We’ve got tear gas riot squads aiming straight for the protest lines of our weary souls. Landmines in our chests that we trip over every time we try to hide from the terrifying tremble of our own war torn hearts….But it is your history that delivered you this roadmap of scars. Those healed wounds and their jagged edges are proof of your infinite ability to survive, to knit broken back to wholeness, to refuse that the end is every really the end…Make friends with your teardown. Do not run from your bar brawl for forgiveness. Sit with the times you’ve fucked up and the times you lost all and the days your redemption was delivered by the hand of the last person you ever expected to give anything but darkness. And through it all know that your walled up and torn down, graffiti-covered heart is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Many people will tell that it is not for a man to cry, but they may not know how is to feel your head empty and only tears will come out to stand up for you.”

“She needed to recover. His father had died in January; it was only the end of May. They needed to stick to the routine they’d established during the intervening months. in that way, their life would return to its original shape, like a spring stretched in bad times but contracting eventually into happiness. That the world could come permanently unsprung had never occurred to him.”

“Sometimes we have to soak ourselves in the tears and fears of the past to water our future gardens.”

“Why so much grief for me? No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you – it’s born with us the day that we are born.”

“Against eternal injustice, man must assert justice, and to protest against the universe of grief, he must create happiness.”

“A shade of sorrow passed over Taliesin’s face. ‘There are those,’ he said gently, ‘who must first learn loss, despair, and grief. Of all paths to wisdom, this is the cruelest and longest. Are you one who must follow such a way? This even I cannot know. If you are, take heart nonetheless. Those who reach the end do more than gain wisdom. As rough wool becomes cloth, and crude clay a vessel, so do they change and fashion wisdom for others, and what they give back is greater than what they won.”

“In a dark time, the eye begins to see.”

“I want to tell him that I don’t know what i feel. I want him but i’m frightened to want him. I don;t want my happiness to be entirely dependent on somebody else’s to be a hostage to fortunes I cannot control.”