Quotes About Abandonment

Surely there is no more wretched sight that the human body unloved and uncared for.

Surely there is no more wretched sight than the human body unloved

Surely there is no more wretched sight than the human body unloved and uncared for.

The road to committed faith is paved with personal abandonment and self-denial. Life ceases to be about us, and it begins to be all about God.

the smooth, steady movement of my actions raised a sliver of panic in the rational man who was abandoning me.

All the important promises are about leaving or not leaving.

As she stood there, she looked to the north where there seemed to be another road, but not really a road, more like a snowplow had suddenly gone rogue and wandered off to die alone and away from the herd.

But I've struggled, like every foster child I've ever met, between two opposing agonies: she didn't want me, and I'm the one who left. The guilt, still, is immeasurable.

Mírame, miénteme, pégame, mátame si quieres Pero no me dejes. No, no me dejes, nunca jamás Ã¢â'¬Â¦

Y está triste como una silla abandonada en la mitad del patio azul Los pájaros la rodean Cae una aguja Las hojas resbalan sin tocarla Y está triste en mitad del patio con la mirada baja los pechos alicaídos dos palomas tardas Y un collar sin perro en la mano Como una silla ya vacía.

The gospels record a comical but poignant trail of miscomprehensions and botched efforts to follow the master's lead, culminating in his near-total abandonment during the crucifixion.

People abandoned one another constantly without performing the courtesy of of actually disappearing. They left, but didn't, lurking about, a constant reminder of what could or should have been.

He was doing everyone a favor by getting out of town, he thought. People abandoned one another constantly without performing the courtesy of actually disappearing. They left but they didn't, lurking about, a constant reminder of what could or should or might have been. Not him.

he had been left so painfully as a child and was terrified that it would happen again.

It seemed to Rosa Lublin that the whole peninsula of Florida was weighted down with regret. Everyone had left behind a real life. Here they had nothing. They were all scarecrows, blown about under the murdering sunball with empty ribcages.

Here is the tragedy: when you are the victim of depression, not only do you feel utterly helpless and abandoned by the world, you also know that very few people can understand, or even begin to believe, that life can be this painful. There is nothing I can think of that is quite as isolating as this.

I dislike the word 'victim.' I dislike being told that I 'lost' my husband - as if I had idly abandoned you by the side of the railway track like an unwanted pair of old shoes.

I'm angry at Chris. I'm hurt. "Well, you know what I fear? This is my fear. This moment when, once again, you shut me out and I'm alone. If you were going to leave me alone, you should have walked away before now, when I still knew how to breathe without you.

I don't have a lot of friends walking around I might borrow clothes from. And with good reason: the people I care about disappear.

The problem with collecting other people's junk is you just don't know what to do with it when you don't want it anymore. You feel bad about throwing it to the curb. It's too much trouble to sell. So you keep it around, knowing if you can't redeem it, exactly, you've at least rescued it. Somewhat.

and he doesn't want to come back. Not even for me. Not even for Fern. We're not enough.

Truth is, instead of fixing everything, the Arcadia made everything real. Camellia's gone. Lark and Gabion are far away. Queenie's buried in a pauper's grave, and Briny's heart went there with her. He's lost his mind to whiskey, and he doesn't want to come back. Not even for me. Not even for Fern. We're not enough.

Scenic Route Someone was always leaving and never coming back. The wooden houses wait like old wives along this road; they are everywhere, abandoned, leaning, turning gray. Someone always traded the lonely beauty of hemlock and stony lakeshore for survival, packed up his life and drove off to the city. In the yards the apple trees keep hanging on, but the fruit grows smaller year by year...

Someone was always leaving and never coming back. The wooden houses wait like old wives along this road; they are everywhere, abandoned, leaning, turning gray.