Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me. — Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me. — Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me. — Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me. — Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me. — Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
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Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me.

— Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
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grief life

More “Grief” Quotes

We all have our moments of weakness, just as well that we are capable of weeping, tears are often our salvation, there a — José Saramago, Blindness
That had day changed him. It had changed the entire village. Shaken by the death of a boy they had loved, each person fo — Lois Lowry, Son
In those first hours after he drowned, when the catastrophe was still confined to Calabash beach, and to Jake, Joe and m — Decca Aitkenhead, All at Sea
We are generally not programmed to imagine death, to handle death, to absorb grief, at least not in the immediacy of thi — Neena Verma, A Mother's Cry... A Mother's Celebration
The crumbling under the ‘cold corpse’The deadness of ‘mortal separation’The moaning wails of ‘mourning’The push to ‘perf — Neena Verma, A Mother's Cry... A Mother's Celebration
You are never lost in sorrow, it seems to me, ever. You do know the way. In fact, you don't think there's any other. Sor — Alexander Chee, The Queen of the Night
Only a few days after my encounter with the police, two patrolmen tackled Alton Sterling onto a car, then pinned him dow — Clint Smith
Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does — Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief
How long would our poem be?How much would it weigh?The first verse would be yours, of course−Age before beauty, you'd sa — Louise Hawes, The Language of Stars
. . . when the horror of his grief was new to him, and every object in life, however trifling or however important, seem — Mary Elizabeth Braddon, Lady Audley's Secret
...when I thought he loved me, when I thought we were joined not just for breath’s time, but for the long continuance, t — Sharon Olds, Stag's Leap: Poems
Let the planet be convulsed with exploding bombs, the country ravished daily by new hordes, all his neighbors taken out — Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being