Quotes About Loss

I don't understand," Belle cried. "I gave you gold. You only gave me grief.

If your portfolio risk exceeds your tolerance for loss, there is a high likelihood that you will abandon your plan when the going gets rough.

Investors cannot earn high returns without occasionally bearing great loss.

In the words of Fred Schwed, one of the most astute observers of the investment scene (and certainly the funniest): There are certain things that cannot be adequately explained to a virgin either by words or pictures. Nor can any description I might offer here even approximate what it feels like to lose a real chunk of money that you used to own.

it is the duty of shareholders to periodically suffer loss without complaint.

I imagined grief as a large black crow sitting on my shoulder like a captious shadow, watching everything I did, usually content to sit there quietly, but sometimes cawing judgment in my ear.

The whole secret to winning big in the stock market is not to be right all the time, but to lose the least amount possible when you're wrong.

All natural goods perish. Riches take wings; fame is a breath; love is a cheat; youth and health and pleasure vanish.

History is a bath of blood.

They're never far from us, you know." "Who?" I asked. "The dead. No more'n a breath. You let that last one go and you're with them again.

LOSS COMES IN every moment. Second by second our lives are stolen from us. What is past will never come again.

It seems to me that when you look back at a life, yours or another's, what you see is a path that weaves into and out of deep shadow. So much is lost. What we use to construct the past is what has remained in the open, a hodgepodge of fleeting glimpses. our histories, like my father's current body, are structures built of toothpicks. So what I recall is a construct both of what stands in the light and what I imagine in the dark where I cannot see.

NOTHING IS EVER everything, but the loss of a true love feels that way. All-consuming. The blackest hole. The emptiest place in the universe.

Sam's Place had never felt so empty. He suspected the emptiness was not in the old Quonset hut; it was in him. There was nothing in him now, nothing but the great emptiness of death, which he seemed to carry with him like a virus.

Loss comes in every moment. Second by second our lives are stolen from us. What is last will never come again.

It was a feeling that should have been familiar to us by then, but does anyone ever get used to having their heart broken?

Although I'd had no trouble looking at the casket the day before, on that Saturday I did my best to keep my eyes averted. I stared instead at the stained-glass window behind the altar and imagined shooting the panes out with a slingshot.

It seems to me that when you look back at a life, yours or another's, what you see is a path that weaves into and out of deep shadow. So much is lost. What we use to construct the past is what has remained in the open, a hodgepodge of fleeting glimpses. Our histories, like my father's current body, are structures built of toothpicks.

The daytime. The nighttime. Eating. Just lying here thinking. Nothing feels right. I keep waiting for her to come up the stairs and poke her head into our room and, you know, goof around with us." "I know what you mean," I said. "What do we do, Frank?" "I think we just keep going on. We keep doing what we always do and someday it'll feel right again." "Will it? Really?" "Yeah, I think so.

Whenever hope packed its bag and left for good, all that remained was a terrible emptiness, immeasurably sad.

They're never far from us, you know. ... The dead. No more'n a breath. You let the last one go and you're with them again.

I don't mind dying; I just don't want you to die.

If it was true, as Henry Meloux said, that he'd heard the Windigo call his name, he understood why now. Because it felt exactly as if his heart had just been torn out of him and devoured.

Grief doesn't come in the moment of loss. It comes in the quiet of the aftermath...she didn't feel grief. In a way, what she felt was emptiness. Her mind told her he was dead. Her heart was not there yet.