Quotes About Loss

When I was visiting her a few years ago she hugged me and said, 'Tomorrow after you leave I will stand here at this window and remember that yesterday you were right here with me.' And now she's dead and I have that feeling all the time, no matter where I stand.

When my mother died, I sort of felt her inside me sometimes,' I say. 'Like I'd swallowed her.' He laughs. 'Swallowed her.' 'I still have moments when I feel that, when it feels like she's inside me, and there's no difference between us or that the difference doesn't matter.

Go. Go to your beautiful dances, your beautiful ceremonies. And we will bury our dead.

It's not here anymore," he said. "What?" "What happened." "Then where is it?" "It's gone. It's over. You can't find it, stroke it, coo over it. Time has stolen it away like it fucking steals everything. In rare instances, like yours, that can be a good thing.

I can tell he lost someone close somehow. You can feel that in people, an openness, or maybe it's an opening that you're talking into. With other people, people who haven't been through something like that, you feel the solid wall.

He listens. He breathes into the phone. I can tell he lost someone close somehow. You can feel that in people, an openness, or maybe it's an opening that you're talking into. With other people, people who haven't been through something like that, you feel the solid wall. Your words go scattershot off of it.

It is a subtle violence, the violence of absence.

It's strange, to not be the youngest kind of adult anymore. I'm thirty-one now, and my mother is dead. (4)

I hate old people. I hate anyone older than my mother, who didn't get to become old.

We went from French to a sort of hybrid of the Catalan and Castilian that he taught me, and I wonder if that's part of the reason I don't miss him, that everything we ever said to each other was in languages I'm starting to forget.

Jag gråter aldrig över Paco. De där två åren med honom tynger mig inte. Vi övergick från franska till en sorts blandning av den katalanska och den kastilianska som han lärt mig, och jag undrar om det är en del av anledningen till att jag inte saknar honom, eftersom allt vi någonsin sa till varandra var på språk jag har börjat glömma bort

I can tell he lost someone close somehow. You can feel that in people, an openness, or maybe it's an opening that you're talking into. With other people, people who haven't been through something like that, you feel the solid wall. Your words go scattershot off of it.

At night you cried, because everyone around you was crying, halls and halls of boys crying in the dark for their brothers. 'Tears are not endless and we have no more.' That is the line I like best of all those war poets.

Even still, it took a long time to feel much of anything again.

Everything we ever said to each other was in languages I'm starting to forget.

It's strange, to not be the youngest kind of adult anymore. I'm thirty-one now, and my mother is dead.

We all lose our cammin." "It's so physical. It feels like my body is rejecting me". Pg 275.

Tragedy is based on this sense that there's been a terrible mistake,isn't it?

The passion fades, the remorse is eternal.

We have lost the courage to hope.

If we have no friends, we have no pleasure; and if we have them, we are sure to lose them, and be doubly pained by the loss.

Through the years, you've released parts of you. Some went into the sewer, others you left at your friends' houses, some on the sidewalk while riding your bike as a kid. Your body is used to being taken apart by pieces and put back together. Swapping parts is hardwired into human existence. It takes on a much larger role in death.

Because of you. I fell in love with you, Alexis Brown, and I don't want to lose you over a glass of champagne.

crying by this time, but so was I, and I wasn't ashamed. Grief had a way of sneaking up on a person. It lay in wait and pounced when your back was turned. Or it clung with sticky fingers twenty-four/seven, giving no reprieve.