Quotes About Loss

Time is the only thief we can't get justice against.

His father died before his time. "You're a man now," the village people told him. "If being broken-hearted is a man," he replied from his despair, "then, yes, I suppose I'm a man."

A sold poem loses half its meaning.

When one of my plants dies, I die a little inside too.

Fearing to lose what you have is not the same as appreciation. You have to take a step beyond that.

As I write this, I am still waiting for Steve to walk through the door.

The plane landed, and I had a moment to sit with Steve on my own. It was a bit of an effort to clamber up into the back of the plane. A simple wooden casket rested inside, still secured. I knew that who Steve was, his spirit and his soul, were no longer there, but it was strange how I couldn't cry. I sat down and leaned my head against the wooden box that held his body and felt such strange peace. In some way, we were together again.

My resolution was all well and good, but what really sustained me during those dark, lonely hours of the night was another deeper, more persistent thought. With every tick of the clock, I was one moment closer to being with Steve again.

I stopped believing in forever years and years ago-but every breakup hurt me anyway. Every woman who left took part of me with her. Maybe I wasn't too full with the past-maybe I was just too empty. I just didn't know if I had anything left.

So remembering is only one more way of being alone when the voice has gone everywhere in the dusk of the porches looking for the last thing to say.

Last of his toothpaste, last of his Wheat Chex, last of his 5-Quick-Cinnamon-Rolls-With-Icing, his Pop Secret Microwave Pop- corn, his Deluxe Fudge Brownie Mix next to my Casbah Nutted Pilaf on the sparser shelf, I'm using it all up. Chanting: he'd-want-me- to-he'd-want-me-to. To consume loss like a hydra-headed meal of would-have-dones accompanied by missed-shared-delight. What can I tell you?

The dead do not hurt you; only the living do.

When there is no family, what else is there to fight for? I was blinded with obsession, for something that could never fill me. I lost everything that mattered.

But now everything was lost: all the scattered effect of a real person, complicated beyond counting. (Post production, 197)

We'll to the woods no more,The laurels all are cut.

No one is truly dead until they are no longer loved.

Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.

Where were you When everything was falling apart? All my days Were spent by the telephone That never rang And all I needed was a call That never came To the corner of First and Amistad. Lost and insecure You found me, you found me Lyin' on the floor Surrounded, surrounded Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you? Just a little late You found me, you found me.

Grief is a normal healthy response to loss

Separation is not an event but it is a process involves enormous changes and loss

Lose your dream, you lose your mind.

The deeper the sorrow the less tongue it hath.

There is that delicate, unique degree of love, that leaves no space for tolerance, possesses all instincts, and takes absolute control of heart and mind. That if that love is lost, you gradually lose the world..

Ja, Erinnerung ist viel, ist alles. Und die hab ich nun und bleibt mir und kann mir nicht mehr genommen werden. Und ich fühle ordentlich, wie mir dabei leicht zumute wird.