Quotes About Absence

Not having my father around has made me a better person.

You don't want to see me all the time. You get bored.

I think the bravest thing to write about is nothing, just to write a book in which nothing happens.

I want to be able to be a father to my kids, where I've never seen my father, but my kids can see me whenever they want, so that was broken.

I never knew my father. He was never married to my mother; he was never a part of my life. It was just my mom, my brother and me.

In the sudden absence of husbands, fathers, brothers and beaus, white Southern women discovered a newfound freedom - one that simultaneously granted them more power in relationships and increased their likelihood of heartbreak.

They who go Feel not the pain of parting; it is they Who stay behind that suffer.

There are a couple of strategies for writing about an absence or writing about a loss. One can create the person that was lost, develop the character of the fiancee. There's another strategy that one can employ, maybe riskier... Make the reader suffer the loss of the character in a more literal way.

Happiness is the absence of suffering. I think it's an interesting way of looking at it. I think the absence of suffering exists very rarely in the world we live in.

I don't invent you at sadly cooled-off places from which you've gone away; even your not being there is warm with you and more real and more than a privation. Longing leads out too often into vagueness. Why should I cast myself, when, for all I know, your influence falls on me, gently, like moonlight on a window seat.

The sleeping and the waking, the bright and the dark, the voice and the silence... la présence et l'absence. All the presumed opposites which converge somewhere in one point where they sing the hymn of their union--and this place is, for the time being, our heart.

Memory Is Not Enough Memory is not enough… I do not recollect. What I am is alive in me because of you. I do not reinvent you at sadly cooled-off places you have left behind. Even your absence is filled with your warmth and is more real than your not-existing. Longing often meanders into vagueness. Why should I throw myself away when something in you may be touching me, very lightly, like moonlight on a window seat.

Tous mes adieux sont faits. Tant de départs m'ont lentement formé dès mon enfance. Mais je reviens encor, je recommence, ce franc retour libère mon regard. Ce qui me reste, c'est de le remplir, et ma joie toujours impénitente d'avoir aimé des choses ressemblantes à ces absences qui nous font agir.

how will you sleep without my whispering above you like the linden's branches? Without my lying here awake and placing words, almost like eyelids, on your breasts, your limbs, your lips. Without my closing you and leaving you alone with what is yours like a garden with a mass of mint-balm and star-anise.

Was berechtigt Sie dann, ihn, welcher niemals war, wie einen Vergangenen zu vermissen und zu suchen, als ob er verloren wäre?

O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water" (Psalm 63:1). We may imagine we want a thousand different things, but God is the one we really long for. His presence brings satisfaction; his absence brings thirst and longing.

I'd like to know what a place is like when I'm not there . I'd like to be sure .

Are you happy? she [Clarisse] said. Am I what? he [Montag] cried. But she was gone- running in the moonlight. Her front door shut gently.

Wouldn't it be fine if we could prove things with our mind, and know for certain that things are always in their place. I'd like to know what a place is like when I'm not there. I'd like to be sure.

They were all alone. Their voices had died like echoes of the words of God spoken and vibrating in the shared deep.

Sentì il sorriso abbandonare la sua faccia, fondersi o ripiegare su se stesso come cera di una candela fantastica che era bruciata troppo a lungo e ora collassava, spenta. Buio, infelicità. Non era un uomo felice, ripeté tra sé. Riconobbe che era questa la verità, indossava la contentezza come una maschera ma adesso la ragazza era scappata, portandola con sé. Non c'era modo di bussare alla sua porta e chiedere che gliela restituisse. Senza

Nothing, nothing of it left to hate--not an empty brass gun shell, or a twisted hemp, or a tree, or even a hill of it to hate.

It doesn't make sense. It isn't even good grammar. What the hell does it mean when they disappear somebody?

Some things on this earth are unspeakable: Genealogy of the broken— A shy wind threading leaves after a massacre, Or the smell of coffee and no one there—