Grief is all emotions wrapped into one.
prose
Understanding death
I read an article stating that cats don’t understand death the way humans do, so they don’t fear it like we do — I think they understand better than
Encouragement
“Don’t waste yourself in rejection, nor bark against the bad, but chant the beauty of
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
Battle-scarred
Life is a repeated shattering and gluing back together of the heart.
They healed my heart
“I have a request to make of those who read Empty Shells. If any friend surmises he has discovered the author he will be courteous enough to keep my secret. I have left out a great many poems that would have betrayed my identity, and put in none that I have cause to fear. Why then publish? I have no right to count on a long life and I am not willing to be ‘edited, revised, and corrected.’ On the other hand, I feel towards my poems as many women do towards their weak children; and treasure them because if they were conceived in grief they healed my heart. After the first smart of a new loss was softened, next to writing my greatest comfort was reading; and I did not then seek great authors. Shakespeare, Milton, and Goethe were naught to me: I sought minor Poets — of whom I dare hope to be one. Could I but be a like comfort to some simple, sorrowing hearts I should feel my life-griefs had not been in vain.”
Hard enough
If guilt or regret is an essential part of your grief, you will never stop grieving.
Cicatrixoxo
Most of our scars are internal.
Queen of Self
Work hard, enrobe yourself in velvet hope, and rule your world!
Coldhearted
Hail is angry rain.
Lion’s outlook
“I will hear not those who weep and complain, for their disease is contagious.”
—Og Mandino, The Greatest Salesman in the World, 1968
A little blue
“I’ve been feeling a little blue — just a pale, elusive azure. It isn’t serious enough for anything darker.”
—L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915
Always This Paying
Nothing is really any fun,
because you’ve always got to pay for everything.
—D. H. Lawrence, Pansies, 1929
Perfectionism
I beat myself up every day without so much as a scratch.