Sigmund Freud Quotes

Grief causes suffering and disease.

Grief, for me, is a moment-to-moment experience.

You might find it difficult to see anything but your own sadness, the way smoke can cover a landscape so that all anyone can see is black. You may find that if someone pours water all over you, you are damp and distracted, but not cured of your sadness, the way a fire department can douse a fire but never recover what has been burnt down.

Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.

Grief comes and goes, but depression is unremitting.

Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.

Depression is a feeling without a cause. Mourning has a cause.

When Michael died I was tipped over the edge. I was beyond grief.

Grief is an emotion that's almost unplayable because you're in a separate emotional state; it's an inconsolable emotion.

Our culture has become increasingly intolerant of that acute sorrow, that intense mental anguish and deep remorse which may be defined as grief. We want to medicate such sorrow away.

There's definitely sadness happening in this band. I get melancholy every day about things.

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.

Losses do that. One life-loss can infect the whole of a life. Like a rash that wears through our days, our sight becomes peppered with black voids. Now everywhere we look, we only see all that isn’t: holes, lack, deficiency.

Sometimes I worry that I've lost the plot My twitching muscles tease my flippant thoughts I never really dreamed of heaven much Until we put him in the ground. There is nothing as lucky, as easy, or free

Grief is not as heavy as guilt, but it takes more away from you.

Sorrow is properly that state of the mind in which our desires are fixed upon the past without looking forward to the future.

I'm in mourning for my life.

...grief can derange even the strongest and most disciplined of minds.

One bitter time of mourning, I remember, When day, and night, my sad heart did complain, My life, I said, was one cold, bleak December, And all its pleasures, were but whited pain.

Each substance of a grief has twenty shadows.

For Beatrice, I cherished, you perished, The world's been nightmarished.

Grief is like sinking, like being buried.

Dearly departed, scarcely lamented, deeply demented.

Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death, but genuine pain doesn't live in the spirit, nor in the air, nor in our lives, nor on these terraces of billowing smoke. The genuine pain that keeps everything awake is a tiny, infinite burn on the innocent eyes of other systems.