Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.

The final tormenting, unanswerable question: what is 'success' in mourning?

What is this sleep which holds you now?You are lost in the dark and cannot hear me.

Oh sweetheart, do you really think if youseal it up, that the pain's gonna go away?

O cattiva Proserpina, come puoi tollerareche invano sian versate tante lacrime amare?...

Don't cry for the dead, for the dead is deaf, dumb, blind, lame, unemotional and dead.

Don't say mourning. It's too psychoanalytic. I'm not mourning. I'm suffering.

How could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury?

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

We'd all mourn for a while, but at the end of the day we were a tough lot, and we'd survive.

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

At the end of the day your ability to connect with your readers comes down to how you make them feel.

As soon as someone dies, frenzied construction of the future (shifting furniture, etc.): futuromania.

Everything was a broken line for me in those days. I was slipped into the empty spaces between words.

Than thở hình như là cách tự vuốt ve nỗi khổ.