Grief is a mute sense of panic.

There are some griefs so loud they could bring down the sky, and there are griefs so still none knows how deep they lie.

People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were travelling abroad.

In any man who dies there dies with him, his first snow and kiss and fight ... Not people die but worlds die in them.

The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and irretrievably lost.

When a person dies, it's as if a library burns down - all singular experiences, anchored in unique cells, are extinguished.

On hearing of the death of a close friend, go round with a box of delicious food and strong drink. The family will have forgotten the shopping and will be distraught.

Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.

When a friend needs consoling, do not give in to the temptation of telling stories similar to theirs of disaster or bereavement. It is something people often do to show empathy but nothing is more tiresome than other people's problems when you want to focus on your own. Listening is by far the best form of consolation.

While grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates.