Quotes About Loss

Sebastian says modestly that though his twin resembled him very much , she was reputed to be beautiful. But more importantly, she had a mind that was just and beautiful. she drowned in salt water, leaving sebastian to drown her memories in the salt water of his tears.

You hold too heinous a respect of grief. CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son. KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child. CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

Lady Macduff: Now God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son: If he were dead, you'd weep for him. If you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.

Qué tristeza alarga las horas de Romeo? No tener lo que, al tenerlo, las abrevia.

I felt loss at every hand. The loss of self-esteem is a celebrated symptom, and my own sense of self had all but disappeared, along with any self-reliance. This loss can quickly degenerate into dependence, and from dependence into infantile dread. One dreads the loss of all things, all people close and dear. There is an acute fear of abandonment.

Loss in all of its manifestations is the touchstone of depression—in the progress of the disease and, most likely, in its origin.

loss. Loss in all of its manifestations is the touchstone of depression—in the progress of the disease and, most likely, in its origin

Is it best to know about a child's death, even one so horrible, or to know that the child lives but that you will never, never see him again?

certain writing instrument—became the objects of my demented possessiveness. Each momentary misplacement filled me with a frenzied dismay, each item being the tactile reminder of a world soon to be obliterated. November wore on, bleak, raw and chill. One Sunday

Both of us put up a brave front about it all, but a love affair, like some prodigy of plastic surgery, is flesh laid on to living flesh and to break it up is to tear off great hunks and parts of yourself.

I did not weep for the six million Jews or the two million Poles or the one million Serbs or the five million Russians -- I was unprepared to weep for all humanity -- but I did weep for these others who in one way or another had become dear to me, and my sobs made an unashamed racket across the abandoned beach

I cried myself, thinking of the grass growing on her tennis court, and the cruelty that was natural.

If there is a single lesson I have learned, it is this: in life, we are destined to lose many things. That is the nature of life. Never mind. Just don't lose the present. Nothing is worth it. There is nothing more important than "this," the fullness of life right now.

the bloodstained shirt he had taken off earlier

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be...

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.

Marrying to increase love is like gaming to become rich; alas, you only lose what little stock you had before

you love your people but you don't understand them. They find God in each other. And when they lose each other, they lose God and they're lost. And it's hard to help them

They had buried him under our elm tree, they said -- yet this was not totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.

No victory, no conquest justified a single death, a man starved, frozen, lacerated, a single orphaned child. All war wanted was itself.

I looked at his grave and, with tears in my eyes, I voiced these words: You were worth it, old friend, and a thousand times over.

Where the Red Fern Grows taps into the wellspring that runs deep in all of us as we fall in step with a boy and his dogs and, piece by piece, our own stories unfold.

And not there, not there, not there, Your laughing face and your wind-blown hair Leave not even a ghost in the garden.