Quotes About Lost

John's tattoo..Goddamn..He'd done it as a memorial to her-putting her name in his skin so she'd be with him always. After all, there was nothing more permanent than that-hell, that was why in the mating ceremony males got their backs carved up: Rings could get lost.

He had been aware of the distance traveled by his heart, similar to the way a hiker became lost in the wilderness. A half mile out and you could still see where you had started, could easily find the way back home. But ten miles and a number of forks in your trail later and there was no going back. At that point, you had no choice but to marshal the resources to build yourself a shelter and put down fresh roots.

Butch, I got sick and needed some time to regroup. But I wanted to see you. That's why I asked you to come calling when I ran into you back in December. When you said no, I thought... well, you'd lost interest. She'd wanted to see him? Had she said that? Butch, I wanted to see you. Yeah, she had. Twice. Well, now... didn't that perk a guy up.

There was a reason for rituals. When you were lost in your own life, they provided a false structure, like paper walls for your house of cards, the illusion that things were predictable and safe sometimes the only thing that got you through.

You are the male I might have been. You are the potential I had and lost. You are the honor and the strength and the kindness she needs. You'll take care of her.

I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can.

She talks with a broken heart - Her voice lutes brokenly like a heart lost, musically too, like in a lost grove, it's almost too much to bear sometimes like some fantastic futuristic Jerry Southern singer in a nightclub who steps up to the mike in the spotlight in Las Vegas but doesn't even have to sing, just talk, to make men sigh and women wonder I guess...

Down in Denver, all I did was die.

Something, someone, some spirit was pursuing all of us across the desert of life and was bound to catch us before we reached heaven. Naturally, now that I look back on it, this is only death: death will overtake us before heaven. The one thing that we yearn for in our living days, that makes us sigh and groan and undergo sweet nauseas of all kinds, is the remembrance of some lost bliss that was probably experienced in the womb and can only be reproduced (though we hate to admit it) in death.

What is he aching to do? What are we all aching to do? What do we want?" She didn't know. She yawned. She was sleepy. It was too much. Nobody could tell. Nobody would ever tell. It was all over. She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.

At night in this part of the West the stars, as I had seen them in Wyoming, were as big as Roman Candles and as lonely as the Prince who's lost his ancestral home and journeys across the spaces trying to find it again, and knows he never will.

They stand uncertainly underneath immense skies, and everything about them is drowned.

She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.

I suddenly saw the little hobo standing under a sad street lamp with his thumb stuck out--poor forlorn man, poor lost sometime boy, now broken ghost of the penniless wilds.

Naturally, now that I look back on it, this is only death: death will overtake us before heaven. The one thing we yearn for in our living days, that makes us sigh and groan and undergo sweet nauseas of all kinds, is the remembrance of some lost bliss that was probably experiences (though we hate to admit it) in death.

She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost. Chapter 11

in search of something they don't really find, and losing themselves on the road, and coming all the way back hopeful of something else.

Why should he not hate them? He never asked himself the question. He knew only hate and lost himself in the passion of it. Life had become a hell to him. He had not been made for the close confinement wild beasts endure at the hands of men. And yet it was in precisely this way that he was treated. Men stared at him, poked sticks between the bars to make him snarl, and then laughed at him.

I lost years of my life to prison because of two-dimensional and misogynist stereotypes.

I think that 'Lost' is a bit of a dinosaur in terms of the type of show it is. The economics just don't support making a show this big and complicated profitable enough for a network.

Romney, like Sen. John McCain and Bob Dole before him, were meant to mollify moderates, attract Independents, and 'rebrand' the party in a way that mostly fits the ideal of media types who would never vote Republican anyhow. Each of them lost.

I'm not stupid enough to think that I can deal with another 10 or 15 years of major exposure. I think that is the ultimate tragedy of fame... People who are simply out of control, who are lost. I've seen so many of them, and I don't want to be another cliche.

'Lost' is driving toward an ending, and that ending is: Are these people getting off this island? What is the nature of this island? What is going to happen to them? What is their ultimate fate? What is their ultimate destiny? Those questions need to get answered.

I've never been able to keep track of an umbrella, but then my dad gave me this fancy umbrella. It was in his car, and I had again lost some awful Duane Reade disaster umbrella. It was my first adult umbrella that wasn't from a drugstore, and I have left it all over New York, and every time, I went back to get it.