The most thrilling thing about heaven is that Jesus Christ will be there. I will see Him face to face. Jesus Christ will meet us at the end of life's journey.

The one who is our very Life descended into our world, and bore our death, and slew it with the abundance of His own life. Thundering, He called out to us to return to Him in heaven.

Death opens a door out of a little, dark room (that's all the life we have known before it) into a great, real place where the true sun shines and we shall meet.

You will lose someone you can't live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.

The tears coursed down her cheeks - not freely, however, for when they came into contact with her heavily beaded eyelashes they assumed an inky color, and pursued the rest of their way in slow black rivulets. A humorous suggestion was made that she sing the notes on her face whereupon she threw up her hands, sank into a chair and went off into a deep vinous sleep.

Your grief won't go away; it's not a door you can close,or a book you can put back on the shelf,or a kiss you can give back once it's given. This is the way the world is now. Keep the worst things to yourself, like a bone in your throat.

At first it appeared as if something with wings had fallen from above... perhaps an angel who had faltered then drowned, in tears of this poor tired world.

You cannot unwrite a death that has been written.

but as God created life, so did He create destruction.

Lately, she's been wondering if perhaps when the living become the dead they leave an empty space behind, a hollow no one else can fill.

You lose people sometimes, you know. You don't expect to, but then it happens and you can't get them back.

That was history, in his opinion: that sorrow was unalterable and ever present. That tears could be preserved in the hardest granite.