Quotes About Loss

Gledao sam kako se mijenjaju ljudi koji su mi nekada bili uzor i kako nestaju oni kojima sam se želio dopasti; nijedan mi se san nije ostvario, ni u pjesni?koj karijeri, ni u životu.

I tried desperately to remember her, only to realize that despite love, a face long not seen finally fades.

Eskiden Ä°stanbul daha fakir, daha küçük, daha mutluydu deseler inanmazd?m belki, ama kalbim böyle diyordu. Çünkü arkamda b?rakt???m sevgilimin evi yerli yerinde ?hlamur ve kestane aÄŸaçlar?n?n içindeydi, ama kap?dan sordum bir baÅŸkas? oturuyordu art?k orada.

The Istanbul in which they lived was a city littered with the ruins of the great fall, but it was their city. If they gave themselves to melancholic poems about loss and destruction, they would, if discovered, find a voice all their own.

I'd discovered how proud and fragile men could be, the sense of self that courses through their veins. I knew that fathers and sons were capable of killing each other. Whether it was father's killing their sons, or sons killing the fathers, men always emrged victorious , and all that was left for me to do was weep.

Havadan sudan söz ettikten ve gerekli bilgi formlar?n? titizlikle doldurduktan sonra, sorunumu sorunca, doktora, bir an, sevgilimi kaybettiÄŸim için kendimi uzaya yollanm?? bir köpek gibi yaln?z hissettiÄŸimi söylemek geldi içimden...

A felicidade que sentira apenas alguns instantes antes agora dava lugar a uma terrível certeza de que a iria perder

As a fatherless son, so a sonless father will be embraced by none. —FERDOWSI, Shahnameh

Darkness... When everything that you know and love... is taken from you so harshly... all you can think about is anger, hatred, and even revenge... and no one can save you.

Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. What matters is the things you build together before they go. What matters is the part of them that continues in you when they're gone.

Grief, she reminded herself, is almost always for the mourner's loss.

I don't hate you, I love you, you're part of myself, you're my heart and when you go it's my heart torn out and carried away--

He is dead, she thought bitterly, because we have forgotten him.

I've got a pretty good idea what children are, and we're not children. Children can lose sometimes, and nobody cares.

Whoop-de-do, said Ram. What? I'm celebrating. Was that irony or loss of mental function? asked the expendable. Was that a rhetorical questions, a bit of humor, or a sign that you are losing confidence in me? I have no confidence in you, Ram, said the expendable. Well, thanks. You're welcome.

And then the queen wept with all her heart. Not for the cruel and greedy man who had warred and killed and savaged everywhere he could. But for the boy who had somehow turned into that man, the boy whose gentle hand had comforted her childhood hurts, the boy whose frightened voice had cried out to her at the end of his life, as if he wondered why he had gotten lost inside himself, as if he realized that it was too, too late to get out again.

The world is full of grief - to the exact degree we allow ourselves to love other people. (Mazer Rackham)

Ruthie] ... if he was a good man, how could he leave me? So he must not be a good man. But if he isn't good, then why does it hurt so much to lose him?

Grief, she reminded herself, is almost always for the mourner's loss.

He felt like part of himself had been taken away, an inward prop that was holding up his courage and confidence.

Once these two had been joined together in love, or something like love; they had made two babies, and yet, only fifteen years later, the last tie between them was broken now. All lost, all gone. Nothing lasted, nothing. Even this forty-million-year world that the Oversoul had preserved as if in ice, even it would melt before the fire. Permanence was always an illusion, and love was just the disguise that lovers wore to hide the death of their union from each other for a while.

Names come and go. They get attached to you, and then you lose them, and they get attached to someone else.

He sat upon the hill, a Gatefather who was now but a shadow of himself, and wept. For all his crimes he wept, for all who had died before he could save them, for the mages he had stripped of power even more utterly than he had been stripped today. I held their outselves in my hearthoard for a thousand years, some of them, or more I made myself the thief of hearts, and now I am repaid.

When your child goes off to war, you will never get him back. Not as he was, not the same boy. Changed, if he comes back at all.