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There is a kind of euphoria of grief, a degree of madness.

Nothing I read about grief seemed to exactly express the craziness of it; which was the interesting aspect of it to me - how really tenuous our sanity is.

The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.

Grief causes suffering and disease.

I don't mourn the dead. I mourn the living.

Perhaps grief is not about empty, but full. The full breath of life that includes death. The completeness, the cycles, the depth, the richness, the process, the continuity and the treasure of the moment that is gone the second you are aware of it.

But there is a discomfort that surrounds grief. It makes even the most well-intentioned people unsure of what to say. And so many of the freshly bereaved end up feeling even more alone.

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life.

It's very shocking, I think, for people caring for the dying to realise how unsaintly they feel, how much anger is mixed up with their grief. In fact, often I think the anger that they feel is a form of grief; it's a kind of raging against what's happening.

Grief can take care if itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with.