Quotes About Loss

The one safety for the defeated is to have no hope of safety

non et vario noctem sermone trahebat infelix Dido, longumque bibebat amorem, multa super Priamo rogitans, super Hectore multa; nunc quibus Aurorae venisset filius armis, nunc quales Diomedis equi, nunc quantus Achilles.

But of course—so Turnus can fetch his royal bride— our lives are cheap, scattered in piles across the field, unburied and unwept.

Haec finis Priami fatorum; hic exitus illum sorte tulit, Troiam incensam et prolapsa videntem Pergama, tot quondam populis terrisque superbum regnatorem Asiae.  Iacet ingens litore truncus, avolsumque umeris caput, et sine nomine corpus.

Troy has fallen—and fallen let her stay— with the very name of Troy!

Sometimes the hardest goodbyes are the ones never said, the ones that always just hang there in the back of the mind like a dark cloud. There's so much to say but no one to say it to because the person you want most to hear it is already gone. That's how he felt. Sorrow, regret, a wound so deep it didn't even bleed. Like a puncture wound, an ache that didn't heal but just hurt. He didn't know if he wanted it to heal. That'd be too much like a final goodbye.

The hardest goodbyes are the ones that were never said and never explained, the ones where the story wasn't over.

I have lost friends, some by death...others by sheer inability to cross the street.

I need silence, and to be alone and to go out, and to save one hour to consider what has happened to my world, what death has done to my world.

When the body escaped mutilation, seldom did the heart go to the grave unscarred.

Truth had run through my fingers. Every drop had escaped.

Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.

After that, how unbelievable death was! - that is must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.

If you are losing your leisure, look out! -- It may be you are losing your soul.

Among the tortures and devestations of life is this then - our friends are not able to finish their stories.

Death is woven in with the violets," said Louis. "Death and again death.")

Tragedies come in the hungry hours.

Mr Ramsay, stumbling along a passage one dark morning, stretched his arms out, but Mrs Ramsay having died rather suddenly the night before, his arms, though stretched out, remained empty.

I have lost friends, some by death—Percival—others through sheer inability to cross the street.

Everyone has friends who were killed in the War. Everyone gives up something when they marry.

Among the tortures and devastations of life is this then—our friends are not able to finish their stories.

She felt drawing further from her and further from her an Archduke, (she did not mind that) a fortune, (she did not mind that) the safety and circumstance of married life, (she did not mind that) but life she heard going from her, and a lover.

There was an embrace in death.

Oh! dear me, the mystery of life; The inaccuracy of thought! The ignorance of humanity! To show how very little control of our possessions we have—what an accidental affair this living is after all our civilization—let me just count over a few of the things lost in one lifetime, beginning, for that seems always the most mysterious of losses—