Quotes About Lost

John – tell me, are we lost?

Elizabeth, with sarcasm and a sense of being lost: Oh indeed! Indeed!

He would tell himself he had momentarily gone mad and forgotten why he existed. Do not forget again and you will never feel so lost again, he would remind himself, confident in his memory's ability to be permanently fixed.

In the morning I had a look so lost, a face so dead, that perhaps those whom I met did not see me . - Bad Blood

Pointed in the wrong direction, trapped outside their own history and unable to retrace their steps because their footprints had been swept away.

Something lay buried in the ground. Under grass. Under twenty-three years of June rain. A small forgotten thing. Nothing that the world would miss. A child's plastic wristwatch with the time painted on it. Ten to two, it said.

I wasn't cold, I wasn't anything at all I was only a blur.

Save the world? I don't think so. I have my reasons. The world was lost a long time ago, and nothing's going to fix it, maybe not even science.

And I wish I had the power to tell tem that the despair of their hearts was not to be final, and their night was not without hope. For the battle they lost can never be lost.

Briefly (Vladimir Nabokov) caught the (Superman) fever too, composing a poem, now lost, on the the Man of Steel's wedding night.

The fate of all things cherished and expensive, to be lost at hazard, and well before their time

It may be safe to walk, but where do you go when all directions wear the same black ashen despair?

The family watched It's a Wonderful Life, which is a very beautiful movie and all I could think was why didn't they make a movie about uncle Billy?...Because he was a drunk and fat and lost all that money in the first place. I wanted an angel to come down and show us how uncle Billy's life had meaning

XX A learned man came to me once. He said, I know the way, - come. And I was overjoyed at this. Together we hastened, Soon, too soon, were we Where my eyes were useless, And I knew not the ways of me feet. I clung to the hand of my friend; But at last he cried, I am lost.

IF LOVE LOVES, THERE IS NO WORLD NOR WORD. ALL IS LOST SAVE THOUGHT OF LOVE AND PLACE TO DREAM.

LXV [Once, I knew a fine song] Once, I knew a fine song, —It is true, believe me,— It was all of birds, And I held them in a basket; When I opened the wicket, Heavens! They all flew away. I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!" But they only laughed. They flew on Until they were as sand Thrown between me and the sky.

here we are, without our families, totally out of our heads, and we don't know where on earth we are. That was the feeling of the early seventies—nobody knew where they were.

We have 18 or 19 plays by Euripides, for example, yet he is known to have written almost 100. Only 7 of Aeschylus's 80 remain, while just 7 plays of Sophocles have come down to us out of 120 known titles. Almost every character you come across when reading the Greek myths had a play about them written by one, other, or all three of the great Athenian masters. The loss of so many of their works might be regarded as the greatest Greek tragedy of them all.

I have been enormously privileged, through my work, in being able to contribute to our understanding of the universe. But it would be an empty universe indeed if it were not for the people I love, and who love me. Without them, the wonder of it all would be lost on me.

If information is lost in macroscopic black holes it should also be lost in processes in which microscopic, virtual black holes appear because of quantum fluctuations of the metric. One could imagine that particles and information could fall into these holes and get lost. Maybe that is where all those odd socks went.

When you're twenty-one, life is a roadmap. It's only when you get to be twenty-five or so that you begin to suspect that you've been looking at the map upside down, and not until you're forty are you entirely sure. By the time you're sixty, take it from me, you're fucking lost.

In the Land of Memory the time is always Now . In the Kingdom of Ago, the clocks tick... but their hands never move. There is an Unfound Door (O lost) and memory is the key which opens it.

He didn't know if that was really true or not, but he discovered something which was tremendously liberating: he didn't care. He was very tired of thinking and thinking and still not knowing. He was also tired of being frightened, like a man who has entered a cave on a lark and now begins to suspect he is lost. Stop thinking about it, then. That's the solution.

Nothing is ever lost, Sarah. Nothing that can't be found.