Quotes About Loss

Marryin's good, keeps a body on his toes. Me, once I lost Clem, I never cared to wed again.

O lost, And by the wind grieved, Ghost, Come back again.

The dead don't stay interested in us living people for very long. Gradually, gradually, they let go hold of the earth… and the ambitions they had… and the pleasures they had… and the things they suffered… and the people they loved. They get weaned away from earth—that's the way I put it—weaned away.

Many who have spent a lifetime in it can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.

Many who have spent a lifetime can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.

All that we know about those we have loved and lost is that they would wish us to remember them with a more intensified realization of their reality. What is essential does not die but clarifies. The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.

Many who have dedicated their life to love, can tell us less about this subject than a child who lost his dog yesterday.

He had lost that privilege of simple nature, the dissociation of love and pleasure. Pleasure was no longer as simple as eating; it was being complicated by love. Now was beginning that crazy loss of one's self, that neglect of everything but one's dramatic thoughts about the beloved, that feverish inner life all turning upon the [loved one].

Each new child that's born to the Antrobuses seems to them to be sufficient reason for the whole universe's being set in motion; and each new child that dies seems to them to have been spared a whole world of sorrow, and what the end of it will be is still very much an open question.

Y qué queda cuando la memoria desaparece?

Of all the cultures that have disappeared from the world, not a single farewell letter or suicide note has been unearthed.

I suppose it seems ignoble to you that a great oak of a man should go about the world like a blind man about an empty house merely because a chit of a girl has been withdrawn from it. No, no, you cannot understand this, my adored one, but I understand and grow pale...You will laugh at me, but I think he goes about the hemispheres to pass the time between now and his old age.

I try to live without you, everytime I do I feel dead.

The world we knew won't come back. The time we lost can't get back. The lives we had won't be ours again.

And now your dead inside, still you wonder why, when your on the edge and falling off, its all over, for you

And a mother without children is not a mother at all, and if I am not a mother, than I am nothing. Nothing. I am like sugar dissolved in a glass of water. Or, I am like salt, which disappears when you cook with it. I am salt. Without my children, I cease to exist.

All these tears shed in the world, where do they go? If one could capture all of them, they could water the parched. Then perhaps these tears would have value and all this grief would have some meaning. Otherwise, it was all a waste, just an endless cycle of birth and death; of love and loss.

Her hands were empty now, as empty as her heart, which itself was a coconut shell with its meat scooped out.

All the tears shed in the world, where do they go? she wondered. If one could capture all of them, they could water the parched, drought-stricken fields in Gopal's village and beyond. Then perhaps these tears would have value and all this grief would have some meaning. Otherwise, it was all a waste, just an endless cycle of birth and death; of love and loss

Strength, beti. Be strong. Bibi turns tearfully toward her. "How, mausi?" she asks. "How? He was my rock. How do I learn to see the world through my own eyes?" Bhima falls silent, feeling acutely her own inadequacy. By breathing one breath at a time, she wants to say. By waking up one morning after another. By putting one foot ahead of the next, until your feet recall how to walk again.

Out of our love, we had stitched together our baby. It was the oldest story in the world; it was the newest. Every single thing I had lost in my own life, every motherless moment, I would make up for with my own child. I was laughing-crying at the miracle of this, at this second chance to take this crooked world in my hands and set it correct.

I'm not sure if I should pray to the Muslim God or the Hindu one. If Abdul were alive he would say there is only one God and I must pray to the God called Justice. But I am going to court because Abdul is dead.

She felt grief move within her like a barefoot woman flitting through a dark house.

It was false, what everyone always said about tragedy. Tragedy wasn't not having someone to love. Tragedy was loving someone and not being able to express it.