On the death of a friend, we should consider that the fates through confidence have devolved on us the task of a double living, that we have henceforth to fulfill the promise of our friend's life also, in our own, to the world.
The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.
The comfort of having a friend may be taken away, but not that of having had one.
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.
For some moments in life there are no words.
If you're going through hell, keep going.
Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.
Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.
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.
The loss of a friend is like that of a limb; time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired.
We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.
Death ends a life, not a relationship.
He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.
Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before, advanced a stage or two upon that road which you must travel in the steps they trod.
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand.
There's one thing that keeps surprising you about stormy old friends after they die - their silence.
A friend who dies, it's something of you who dies.
We go to the grave of a friend saying, "A man is dead," but angels throng about him saying, "A man is born."
Can miles truly separate you from friends... If you want to be with someone you love, aren't you already there?
When our friends are alive, we see the good qualities they lack; dead, we remember only those they possessed.
Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends.
But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
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