I know for certain that we never lose the people we love, even to death. They continue to participate in every act, thought and decision we make. Their love leaves an indelible imprint in our memories. We find comfort in knowing that our lives have been enriched by having shared their love.
Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
Those we love don't go away, they sit beside us every day.
Things must be felt with the heart.
There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power.
When you are sorrowful, look again.
They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it. Death cannot kill what never dies.
When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
If I have any beliefs about immortality, it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven, and very, very few persons.
In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.
Wherever you are you will always be in my heart.
There is a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.
What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.
A horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of trauma, I will fear no concussion.
He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Until one has loved an animal a part of one's soul remains unawakened.
For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.
Grief is the price we pay for love.
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