Quotes About Absence

Peter's gone away on his training weekend. It's only been one day and I'm already longing for him the way I long for Christmas in July. Peter is my cocoa in a cup, my red mittens, my Christmas morning feeling. He

That I miss her. I really miss her. She's only been gone for two months, but it feels like longer. And it also feels like it just happened, like yesterday.

When a person you love dies, it doesn't feel real. It's like it's happening to someone else. It's someone else's life. I've never been good with the abstract. What does it mean when someone is really and truly gone?

I realised it suddenly. I missed him. All this time. When you got to the underneath of it, there it was. There it had always been. And even though he was sitting there only feet away, I missed him more than ever.

I blink. "So you're leaving for good, then?" "Not for good. Just for now.

When a person you love dies, it doesn't feel real. It's like it's happening to someone else. It's someone else's life ... What does it mean when someone is really and truly gone?

People say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I think they're wrong. Proximity makes the heart grow fonder.

I didn't fully comprehend what a big part of my life he'd become. He'd become so...familiar to me. And now he's just gone. Not gone, still here, just not available to me, which might be even worse.

Au début, quand un proche s'absente longtemps, on pense constamment à ce qu'on va lui raconter. On tâche de tout garder en mémoire. Mais autant essayer de retenir une poignée de sable : tous les grains finissent par s'échapper et il ne reste plus que de la terre et du vide, on ne peut jamais tout retenir. Résultat, quand on se revoit, on ne discute que de sujets sérieux. Les anecdotes sont impossibles à partager.

So you're leaving for good, then?" "Not for good. Just for now.

Je ne pensais pas que quelqu'un pouvait vous manquer encore plus douloureusement en étant assis à deux pas de vous. Peut-être parce qu'il ne me regarde pas, pas une seule fois.

I didn't fully comprehend what a big part of my life he'd become. He'd become so... familiar to me. And not he's just gone. Not gone, still here, just not available to me, which might be even worse.

When someone's been gone a long time, at first you save up all the things you want to tell them. You try to keep track of everything in your head. But it's like trying to hold on to a fistful of sand: all the little bits slips out of your hands, and then you're just clutching air and grit. That's why can't save them up like that.

Where did all the words go?" I asked. "They just wasted away," my mom explained, " like a leg you never walk on.

She told me that at the end of death there was a long tunnel and in it awaited everyone you ever loved. But if you never loved anyone there was just an empty room.

Overcome as much as you can—nay even more than you can—the sensitiveness of your mind and check the copious flow of your tears. Else your deep affection for your nephew may be construed by unbelievers as indicating despair of God. You must regretim not as dead but as absent. You must seem to be looking for him rather than have lost him.

You occupied my space. But because you were not in my present, when I looked into my future I saw . . . nothing. Isn't that sad? And stupid?

I have to admit, I wasn't close to my old man when he was alive. He was hardly ever home. But now that he was gone, and I was back in Pittsburgh, I thought about him all the time. I felt closer to the guy since he'd been buried than I ever did when he was walking around above ground. I realized how much I loved him.

La ausencia de las hermanas Gómez me dio duro, las extrañé más de lo normal, eso causó en mí un dolor difícil de superar.

La penumbra del cuarto, en su muda ausencia, envuelve el cuerpo del hombre sobre un rincón de la alfombra

El peñasco árido, donde siempre elevo sus cometas, lo esperaba ansiosamente cada año, hasta que Martín olvidó volver.

Sus miradas se cruzaron desde la lejanía, un frío intenso penetró sus cuerpos ausentes, desde que se cocieron en un vagón sombrío del metro de Buenos Aires

it is not just a matter of feeling—how can this go right, what can I do to make this right, but there is also this other thing—that you think, life is truly absurd, and there really is no meaning, only objects of various size colliding in space, if they are so lucky as to be near each other.

Mother's love is unconditional, it is all-protective, all-enveloping; because it is unconditional it can also not be controlled or acquired. Its presence gives the loved person a sense of bliss; its absence produces a sense of lostness and utter despair. Since mother loves her children because they are her children, and not because they are "good," obedient, or fulfill her wishes and commands, mother's love is based on equality.