Quotes About Loss

Nog een geluk dat Zoals met de gek uit het grapje die zich voortdurend met een hamer op het hoofd sloeg, en naar de reden gevraagd, zei: "Omdat het zo prettig is, als ik ermee ophou"- zo is het een beetje met mij. Ik ben ermee opgehouden je te verliezen. Ik ben je kwijt. Misschien is dat geluk: een geluk bij een ongeluk. Misschien is geluk: Nog een geluk dat. Dat ik aan jou kan terugdenken, bv., in plaats van aan een ander.

Is there some principal of nature which states that we never know the quality of what we have until it is gone?

Life is made up of many comings and goings and for everything that we take with us,we must leave something behind

De grands pans du monde ressemblaient à une mélodie que l'on croit ne pouvoir oublier, hors de laquelle cependant l'on glisse, désormais contraint de la rechercher sans relâche et douloureusement .

The bomb that fell on Hiroshima fell on America too. It fell on no city, no munition plants, no docks. It erased no church, vaporized no public buildings, reduced no man to his atomic elements. But it fell, it fell.

I find it devastatingly sad that a woman could disappear to this extent, leaving no trace other than a daughter who barely remembers her.

It was sad enough to see her father drift away, but it was crushing to find her respect for his intellectual worth vanish with him.

Finding bliss becomes one with the fear of losing it.

After all, no one is stupid enough to prefer war to peace; in peace sons bury their fathers and in war fathers bury their sons.

No one is so senseless as to choose of his own will war rather than peace, since in peace the sons bury their fathers, but in war the fathers bury their sons.

Nothing had anything to do with me. I was locked up inside myself and evicted from myself. I didn't belong to them and I was missing me.

Olha como chora, alguma coisa nele extravasou. Pensei muitas vezes nesta frase. Depois, escrevi-a numa folha em branco. Voltei a riscar, voltei a escrever. Quando a folha encheu, rasguei-a do caderno. A isto chama-se memória.

Tereza's death hurt me so much, it was as if I had two heads smashing into each other. One was full of mown love, the other of hate. I wanted the love to grow back. It grew like grass and straw, all mixed up together, and turned into an icy affirmation on my brow. That was my damn stupid plant.

Love is so great... So why does it have to go so wrong?

From the towns all Inns have been driven: from the villages most.... Change your hearts or you will lose your Inns and you will deserve to have lost them. But when you have lost your Inns drown your empty selves, for you will have lost the last of England.

Loss and possession, death and life are one, There falls no shadow where there shines no sun.

The maid found a handkerchief of hers, under the bed in which she had died. A ring that had been missing turned up in his own writing desk. A tradesman arrived with fabric she had ordered three weeks ago. Each day, some further evidence of a task half finished, a scheme incomplete. He found a novel, with her place marked. And this is it.

this is what death does to you, it takes and takes, so that all that is left of your memories is a faint tracing of spilled ash.

It's always the wrong bits of the past people want back.

When he wakes he has to learn the lack of her all over again

Children's] lives start long before birth, long before conception, and if they are aborted or miscarried or simply fail to materialise at all, they become ghosts in our lives...The unborn, whether they're named or not, whether or not they're acknowledged, have a way of insisting: a way of making their presence felt.

He had only thought, and Wolsey had only thought, that the Emperor and Spain would be against it. Only the Emperor. He smiles in the dark, hands behind his head. He doesn't say which people, but waits for Liz to tell him. 'All women,' she says. 'All women everywhere in England. All women who have a daughter but not a son. All women who have lost a child. All women who have lost any hope of having a child. All women who are forty.

He thinks, ten years I have had my soul flattened and pressed till it's not the thickness of paper. Henry has ground and ground me in the mill of his desires, and now I am fined down to dust I am no more use to him, I am powder in the wind. Princes hate those to whom they have incurred debts.

Queen Katherine, whose boys have all died, takes it patiently: that is to say, she suffers.