Quotes About Loss

Grief loves the hollow; all it wants is to hear its own echo.

My father is both dead and alive. I do not have a grammar for him. He is in the past, present and future. Even if I had held his hand, and felt it slacken, as he exhaled his last breath, I would still, I believe, every time I refer to him, pause to search for the right tense. I suspect many men who have buried their fathers feel the same. I am no different. I live, as we all live, in the aftermath.

There are times when my father's absence is as heavy as a child sitting on my chest.

There has not been a day since his sudden and mysterious vanishing that I have not been searching for him, looking in the most unlikely places. Everything and everyone, existence itself, has become an evocation, a possibility for resemblance. Perhaps this is what is meant by that brief and now almost archaic word: elegy

Though I grieve, there is no help;Vainly I long to see her.Men tell me that my wife isIn the mountains of Hagai—Thither I go,Toiling along the stony path;But it avails me not,For of my wife, as she lived in this world,I find not the faintest shadow.

And somewhere inside me I felt an awful feeling that something in my life was coming quietly to an end.

He loved me and I would rather have him become one with me than disappear from my life. Then I'd never have to be away from him ever again. He said I was important to him. So why did he leave me? How could he leave me?

Man väljer inte sitt öde. Och man väljer lika liten sin hustru eller sin älskarinna, eller sina barn. Man får dem, och man har dem, och det händer att man mister dem. Men man väljer inte!

Han hade en gång förlorat "sitt första hjärta", som det heter.

From time to time, I'll look back through the personal journals I've scribbled in throughout my life, the keepers of my raw thoughts and emotions. The words poured forth after my dad died, when I went through a divorce, and after I was diagnosed with breast cancer. There are so many what-ifs scribbled on those pages.

There's always something left to lose.

And yet my heart is buried with you in the strange soil of the mortal world, as it was drowned with you in the cold waters of the undersea. It was yours before I could ever admit it, and yours it shall ever remain.

I wasn't kind, Jude. Not to many people. Not to you. I wasn't sure if I wanted you or if I wanted you gone from my sight so that I would stop feeling as I did, which made me even more unkind. But when you were gone—truly gone beneath the waves—I hated myself as I never have before.

We love until we do not. For us, love doesn't fade gradually. It snaps like a branch bent too far.

The only way to end grief was to go through it.

I haven't had a very good day. I think I might still be hung over and everyone's dead and my root beer's gone.

The moment she was cursed, I lost her. Once it wears off- soon- she will be embarrassed to remember things that she said, things she did, things like this. No matter how solid she feels in my arms, she is made of smoke.

I got bored," he says. "Besides, you know what's creepier than walking around your dead brothers' apartment? Sitting alone in a hearse in front of his apartment.

Vivi is right; it cost me something to be the way I am. But I do not know what. And I don't know if I can get it back. I don't even know if I want it.

Love is stupid. All we do is break one another's hearts.

I hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like DYING.

Better she never be a bride than wind up a widow

You remind me that I am a mere mortal and you are a prince of Faerie. Well, let me remind you that means you have much to lose and I have nothing.

I thought you were her knight, but you have become only her woodsman--taking little girls into the forest to cut out their hearts.