Quotes About Loss

Well, that's the point, isn't it? We are all sorry for what is inevitable. Piece by piece it is taken away from us. We appear to bargain, but it all comes to the same thing in the end. Death and condolences.

Now that my ladder's gone,I must lie down where all the ladders start,In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.

What shall I do for pretty girlsNow my old bawd is dead?

Was it for this the wild geese spreadThe gray wing upon every tide;For this that all that blood was shed,For this Edward Fitzgerald died,And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,All that delirium of the brave?Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,It's with O'Leary in the grave.

A thoughtOf that late death took all my heart for speech.

Turning and turning in the widening gyreThe falcon cannot hear the falconer;Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhereThe ceremony of innocence is drowned;The best lack all conviction, while the worstAre full of passionate intensity.

For everything you have missed, you have gained something else. Ralph Waldo Emerson American essayist, lecturer and poet (1803-1882)

I am still of [the] opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood--sex and the dead.

And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died?

Romantic Ireland's dead and gone It's with O' Leary in the grave (September 1913)

But is there any comfort to be found? Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

Tell me not of joy: there's none Now my little sparrow's gone He, just as you, Would toy and woo, He would chirp and flatter me, He would hang the wing awhile, Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!

Guilt is ever at a loss, and confusion waits upon it.

Grief is itself a med'cine.

What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd!How sweet their memory still!But they have left an aching voidThe world can never fill.

Toll for the brave—The brave! that are no more;All sunk beneath the wave,Fast by their native shore!

Not to understand a treasure's worth till time has stole away the slighted good, is cause of half the poverty we feel, and makes the world the wilderness it is.

Grief is itself a medicine.

The Castaway" Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roared, When such a destined wretch as I, washed headlong from on board. Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home forever left...

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;

In the past, when Michel had been asked about how the firm would manage without the prolific Felix, he would quote Georges Clemenceau, the French World War I leader: "The cemeteries are full of indispensable men.