A Quote by Veronica Roth

Grief is not as heavy as guilt, but it takes more away from you. — © Veronica Roth
Grief is not as heavy as guilt, but it takes more away from you.
Grief and guilt. A powerful combination. Guilt like a liquid, a thin liquor, seeping everywhere, informing everything, saturating the whole-corrosive, like seawater, scented with the rich stench of ordure and corruption, and carrying with it hard, abrasive shards of grief.
I'm not particularly keen on pity. Pity takes something away from grief. People think they're sharing it, but really they're just taking some. I prefer to keep my grief intact.
Allowing children to show their guilt, show their grief, show their anger, takes the sting out of the situation.
Time takes away the grief of men.
You want a bit of life before it's all over. It takes all the guilt away.
Abortion, more than not, leaves women with an aftermath of grief, guilt, and emotional overload. In a lot of cases, this can last a lifetime.
Outside of 'Justified,' I do like to keep it to comedy. When I'm not there, I try to seek out stuff that sort of more along the lighter fare. I have more fun on those sets than I do on drama sets just because when it's heavy, it's heavy, and it's hard to get away from it.
New grief, when it came, you could feel filling the air. It took up all the room there was. The place itself, the whole place, became a reminder of the absence of the hurt or the dead or the missing one. I don't believe that grief passes away. It has its time and place forever. More time is added to it; it becomes a story within a story. But grief and griever alike endure.
Grief takes many forms, including the absence of grief
It feels much nobler to feel guilty than resentful, and it takes more courage to express resentment than guilt. With expressing guilt you expect to pacify your opponent; with expressing resentment you might stir up hostility in him.
I don't believe that grief passes away. It has its time and place forever. More time is added to it; it becomes a story within a story. But grief and griever alike endure.
to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you've held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its tropical heat thickening the air, heavy as water more fit for gills than lungs; when grief weights you like your own flesh only more of it, an obesity of grief, you think, How can a body withstand this? Then you hold life like a face between your palms, a plain face, no charming smile, no violet eyes, and you say, yes, I will take you I will love you, again.
The upside to grief is it takes away your appetite. When people say you look good they really mean it. Nature's thoughtful that way.
The anxiety I get more when I'm not working. So actually work, for me, takes away my anxiety, and doing live TV, in that moment when you're consumed by something else, it takes away all of my thoughts. It distracts you!
God doesn’t take things away to be cruel. He takes things away to make room for other things. He takes things away to lighten us. He takes things away so we can fly.
The burden of Karma is heavy. All alike have heavy debts to pay. Yet none, so the Wisdom teaches, is ever faced with more than he can bear. Whether or not we can grin, we must bear it, and it is folly to attempt to run away.
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