Quotes About Loss

just hope I get to see her again someday. She's the only human I've ever loved.

There was, however, a real "Honey the cat." Honey was one of two cats and a parrot living in the building on the day it was demolished, whose owners were not allowed to retrieve them. Neither the cats nor the parrot were ever seen again.

didn't know how I could bare to part with them, seeing them clean.

My father died of the same thing that Edwyn had suffered... Was I too stupid--I couldn't be--to take a lesson from that? Could I trust myself? Not to make my life a lair.

Damn it, I'm angry now. I do believe life is loss, I do, but my suffering-to-words-ratio was out of control: lying around composing nothing but these - righteous arias, month after month, these tawdry special pleas.

Abortions will not let you forget. You remember the children you got that you did not get, The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair, The singers and workers that never handled the air. You will never neglect or beat Them, or silence or buy with a sweet. You will never wind up the sucking-thumb Or scuttle off ghosts that come.

He is not there but You know you are tasting together The winter, or a light spring weather. His hand to take your hand is overmuch. Too much too bear.

Abortions will not let you forget.You remember the children you got that you did not get.

My life comes down to three moments: the death of my father, meeting my husband, and the birth of my daughter. Everything I did previous to that just doesn't seem to add up to very much.

Furcsa – mondta, s minthogy az este folyamán el?ször szólalt meg, mindenki felkapta a fejét –, furcsa. Nemrég valaki azt mondta nekem: megyünk a középkorba, középkori harcmodorra kell hát áttérnünk. Most úgy érzem, van benne valami. Minden forradalmat és minden háborút kétszer kell elveszteni. A háborút most veszítjük el másodszor. Eddig csak az országot vesztettük el. Most már magunkat is.

El?ttem van az apám – mondta. – Elmélyülten, élvezettel tudta lemetélni a körmeit a lábáról, aztán mégis meghalt. – Ez hogy jön ide? – kérdezte Aszperger idegesen. – Nem tudom – felelte Fiszer. – De nem tébolyító? Az embernek csak n?, csak n? a körme, és nem tehet róla!

Bolívar resumió el desengaño en una frase: "Hemos ganado la independencia a costa de perder todo lo demás".

When you went away, you left me nothing but the sun-bleached world. You did not even leave me a heart to bleed with. I found I was standing there with no body, and so no voice for calling you.

Losing is all that's left, I say. - Losing is all we've got left to lose, you say The impossibility of not telling, I cannot do otherwise, one can only tell otherwise, with always the same need to make sense of what you've lost, the need not to lose this feeling of losing, the need to feel yourself not losing this feeling that you are still losing the irreplaceable.

The fountains are dusty in the Graveyard of Dreams; The hinges are rusty, they swing with tiny screams.

En una novela es muy cómodo el recurso de hacer morir a los personajes cuando tienen herido el corazón y produce dramático efecto; pero en la vida real eso no sucede, aunque perezca a su alrededor cuanto le hacía querer la vida.

Remember that everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something and has lost something.

Remember that everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something and has lost something. People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they're not on your road doesn't mean they've gotten lost. If you know someone who tries to drown their sorrows, you might tell them sorrows know how to swim...

It was all that was left of a man's dream.

The clever economists who tell us that we don't need British agriculture and that our farms should be turned into national parks seem to ignore the rather obvious snag that an unfriendly country could starve us into submission in a week. But to me a greater tragedy still would be the loss of a whole community of people like

1916…. The Somme Battle. Twenty-three names read out one Sunday evening.

never did he adore anyone quite so purely as he adored the Candidate, or hate so fiercely as he hated the Other Candidate. And never afterwards did he tell such a downright thumping lie, nor was there a time ever again when right and wrong seemed to him so simply on this side and on that. A little boy then, and a man now if he had lived; he was killed on July 1st, 1916. When Chips read out his name in Brookfield Chapel that week, his voice broke and he could not go on.

In times of grief and sorrow. "When someone you love dies. You will heal and you will be whole again but you will never be the same. Their love never truly leaves you. It live's inside you.

Saying goodbye to someone isn't really the hard part. It's living every day, not being able to say anything to them