#mourn

And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed. ↗

— Sarah Waters

#mourning #moving-on #sadness #water

Miles had sworn his officer's oath to the Emperor less than two weeks ago, puffed with pride at his achievement. In his secret mind he had imagined himself keeping that oath through blazing battle, enemy torture, what-have-you, even while sharing cynical cracks afterwards with Ivan about archaic dress swords and the sort of people who insisted on wearing them. But in the dark of subtler temptations, those that hurt without heroism for consolation, he foresaw, the Emperor would no longer be the symbol of Barrayar in his heart. Peace to you, small lady, he thought to Raina. You've won a twisted poor modern knight, to wear your favor on his sleeve. But it's a twisted poor world we were both born into, that rejects us without mercy and ejects us without consultation. At least I won't just tilt at windmills for you. I'll send in sappers to mine the twirling suckers, and blast them into the sky.... He knew who he served now. And why he could not quit. And why he must not fail. ↗

— Lois McMaster Bujold

#mourning #imagination

In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory. ↗

— J.R.R. Tolkien

#mourning #memory

Loss alone is but the wounding of a heart; it is memory that makes it our ruin. ↗

— Brian Ruckley

#loss #memory #mourning #moving-on #mourning

It was a fine cry - loud and long - but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow. ↗

— Toni Morrison

#sula #mourning

Do not ruin today with mourning tomorrow. ↗

— Catherynne M. Valente

#philosophy #present-moment #mourning

We all live with our losses. We don't want to, but we can ↗

— Carrie Jones

#mourning

The others cast themselves down upon the fragrant grass, but Frodo stood awhile still lost in wonder. It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name. All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of his eyes, and ancient as if they had endured for ever. He saw no colour but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made for them names new and wonderful. In winter here no heart could mourn for summer or for spring. No blemish or sickness or deformity could be seen in anything that grew upon the earth. On the land of Lórien, there was no stain. ↗

— J.R.R. Tolkien

#lorien #lothlorien #purity #mourning

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark ↗

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

#mourning

It's not sipping wine. It's a mourning wine. You drain it. Like this. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#wine #mourning