Grief & Loss

Great grief cannot be quenched; but neither can it endure forever.

I am grieved, Marcia, to see you in unceasing sorrow. But if you would consider who you are, and what you have lost, you would not grieve so long.

We are mistaken in thinking that death follows life; it both precedes and will follow it. All that was before us is death; all that will be after us is death.

Nature has made us great in our endurance of loss. We have been born into a world where all things pass away, and we ourselves must pass away.

Your son has not been lost to you; he has been put away. He is not dead; he is withdrawn. He is happier now, freed from the burdens of the body.

Grief, like all other emotions, should be governed by reason. It is not unmanly to weep, but it is unmanly to be conquered by weeping.

The remembrance of a noble life is a consolation that does not pass away. It is a possession that no fortune can take from us.

You have lost a son; but you have not lost your virtue. If you bear this bravely, you will have gained more than you have lost.

Never say of anything, 'I have lost it'; but, 'I have returned it.' Is your child dead? It is returned.

With regard to whatever objects either delight the mind or contribute to use or are tenderly beloved, remind yourself of what nature they are, beginning with the merest trifles: if you have a favorite cup, that it is only a cup; then if it is broken you can bear it.

When you see anyone weeping in grief because his son has gone abroad, or is dead, or because he has suffered in his affairs, be careful that the appearance may not misdirect you. Instead, distinguish within your own mind, and be prepared to say, 'It's not what has happened that distresses this man, but his judgement about it.'

The will of nature may be learned from things upon which we are all agreed. As, when our neighbor's boy breaks a cup, or the like, we are presently ready to say, 'These are casualties that will happen'; be assured, then, that when your own cup likewise is broken, you ought to be affected just as when another's cup was broken.

If you wish your children, and your wife, and your friends to live for ever, you are stupid; for you wish to be in control of things which you cannot, you wish for things that belong to others to be your own.

The wise man will not be troubled by the loss of children or friends. He knows that they are not his own, but only lent to him by nature.

When you see a person weeping in sorrow, either when a child goes abroad or when he is dead, or when the man has lost his property, take care that the appearance does not hurry you away with it. But immediately make the distinction within yourself, and say, 'It is not the thing that distresses this man, but his judgment about it.'

If you wish to live a life free from sorrow, consider nothing as your own that you cannot take with you when you die. Consider your children, your wife, your property, your body, as only lent to you.

The wise man is not grieved by the loss of children or friends. For he knows that they are not his own, but only given to him by nature for a time. He is content to return them when the time comes.

Do not say that you have lost your property; say that you have returned it. Is your child dead? It has been returned. Is your wife dead? She has been returned.

Exile does not deprive us of any of the things which we really possess: water, earth, air, the sun, the moon, friends, family, and most of all virtue.

Grief is the disease of the soul, but it is a disease that we bring upon ourselves by our opinions. We judge that some evil has befallen us, and therefore we grieve.

Time does not heal grief, but reason does. We must correct our opinion about the thing that has happened, and then the grief will cease.

We should not give way to grief, because it does not help the dead, but harms the living. The dead are beyond our tears; we only injure ourselves.

The wise man will be without passion. He will not grieve, because he knows that nothing is truly evil but vice. He will not fear, because he knows that nothing is to be feared but vice.

Grief, therefore, being an opinion, is voluntary.

There is nothing that fear or grief may not extort from a soul which is not fortified by philosophy.

Nothing is more foolish than to sorrow for what is lost.

We ought to weep for the man who lives ill, not the man who dies.

It is the mind that must be armed against adversity.

Whatever fortune has given, she can take away.

Grief comes from the mistaken belief that a great evil is present.

Never say of anything, 'I have lost it,' but 'I have returned it.'