Quotes About Loss

Por te falar eu te assustarei e te perderei? mas se eu não falar eu me perderei, e por me perder eu te perderia.

But five men had died, three humans and two androids, beside a river that flowed on Aldebaran XII, just a few short miles from Andrelon, the

Beauty doesn't see itself and when it does something is lost.

We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.

Sung to the tune of O Christmas Tree O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree, But it was eaten by a newt, And now I have no cuddly fruit, O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree!

All is death, woman. All is pain. Love breeds loss. Isolation breeds resentment. No matter which way we turn, we are beaten. Our only true inheritance is death. And our only legacy, dust.

You are my beauty, my body, perfected. All I was drained off into you. When you left, my health went with you - leaving a moral morbidity I smell in my sleep. The acts I committed for the love of you. Acts I can never forget. I crawled into the bellies of the dead to fish out a little life... I have an appetite for it now. I have an unrelenting lust for death.

There must still be room for the falling note, of course. Even in an undying world there are times when beauty passes from sight, or love passes from the heart, and we feel the sorrow of partition.

We cry for ourselves, don't we? Not for the dead. The dead are past caring.

which should teach you something about this world. That it's a place where whatever you work for and care about is bound to be taken away from you sooner or later, and there isn't a thing you can do about it.

Anyway, it's gone. And there's nothing left in my pocket to charm you. So from now on it's going to have to be tears or nothing I'm afraid. That's all I've got left to tell you see: tears, tears, tears.

Life was not a reversible commodity. Things passed away, never to return: species, hopes, years.

The places where death comes to take love away, where we lose each other and lose ourselves; that's where the connections begin. It takes a brave soul to look there and not despair. I've tried to be brave, she said. I know, he said softly. I know.

Despite his intent, tears sprang to his eyes, and he went into her embrace, both of them sobbing freely, like enemies joined by a common loss or lovers about to be parted. Or else souls who could not remember whether they were lovers or enemies and were weeping at their own confusion.

Our lives are scattered throughout with periods of unbelonging; in childhood, of course, and adolescence; but in adulthood too, when sudden loss (or gain) forces us to reassess things we believe immutable.

You still love her, don't you?" Pie said, once they were out and walking. "Of course I love her," Estabrook said. "That's why I want her dead." "There's no resurrection, Mr. Estabrook. Not for you, at least." "It's not me who's dying," he said. "I think it is," came the

Or were they breed who had died from their half-life, caught in the sun, perhaps, or withered by longing?

Eu não sabia o que estava a perder', disse Harvey. 'Ah...', disse Hood, suavemente 'mas não é sempre assim que as coisas se passam? Há coisas que nos deslizam pelos dedos e só quando se vão embora é que nos arrependemos. Mas aquilo que se vai embora não volta, Harvey Swick!

So quickly? Todd cleared away another wave of tears and looked down at the body on the table. Dempsey's eye was still half-open, but it didn't look back at him any longer. Where there'd been a sliver of bright life, where there'd been mischief and shared rituals—where, in short, there'd been Dempsey—there was nothing.

I dream of broken hearts tonight, And one of them is mine. It will not mend with sympathy, It won't be healed by wine. The only balm I can concieve To put the hurt to right, Would be, my sweat, of you Were not to live beyond tonight.

Somebody's voice rose in prayer, another simply sobbed. What grief was this? Not his passing, surely. He was too minor to earn such lamentation.

Isn't there anything you care about?" "All is death, woman. All is pain. Love breeds loss. Isolation breeds resentment. No matter which way we turn, we are beaten. Our only true inheritance is death. And our only legacy, dust.

That which is imagined need never be lost.

Ricky tasted something he hadn't experienced since childhood: the panic of losing the hand of a guardian. In this case the lost parent was his sanity. Somewhere