Quotes About Loss

My dad died when I was 23. His death was sudden and shocking - the result of a car crash - and I never got to say goodbye.

Everybody Out There....Dont take ANYBODY for granted.Cause you never know when you might lose them,and you may never get the chance to tell them how you really feel

Show me that age and country where the rights and liberties of the people were placed on the sole chance of their rulers being good men, without a consequent loss of liberty?

The more we lose, the more he'll fly in. And the more he flies in, the better the chance there'll be a plane crash.

None of what we've learned seems very relevant when our lover leaves us, when our child has a tantrum in the supermarket, when we're insulted by our colleague.

We fear losing our illusion of security—that's what makes us anxious.

When we're feeling uncomfortable and irritable and fed up, our thoughts and emotions are probably revolving around something like pain, loss, disgrace, or blame.

First, we like pleasure; we are attached to it. Conversely, we don't like pain. Second, we like and are attached to praise. We try to avoid criticism and blame. Third, we like and are attached to fame. We dislike and try to avoid disgrace. Finally, we are attached to gain, to getting what we want. We don't like losing what we have.

If your life is chaotic and stressful, there's plenty of advice here for you. If you're in transition, suffering from loss, or just fundamentally restless, these teachings are tailor made.

Far as I'm concerned, they're all still here, like a lot of dear little ghosts.

Don't think about it. However it was it is over now. However it was or whereever it was. He is not lying there any more. He is nowhere now. Nowhere at all. Don't think about it.

Is nausea always a manifestation of grief? Who am I to know? I have never been thus before. Grief-stricken. Stricken is right; it is as though you had been felled. Knocked to the ground; pitched out of life and into something else.

Job was still in God's will even when he lost his children, wealth, and health.

Living is in itself dying because every new day we enjoy is another day of our lives lost.

Elly's eyes were huge and her mouth was open and she was clutching her hands over her chest. Her mouth was moving but he couldn't hear what she was saying. She looked weirdly pale, even her clothes. "Elly?" She held out her hands. As she was about to touch him, her fingers became foggy tendrils. He could see right through her, as if she had turned to mist. "Elly?" he said. He reached out for her, but she was gone.

I believe now that there can be no real sense of loss or seperation without the recognition of death; we were too young to consider any such eventuality, and simply moved on with our lives into some indefinite but illimitable future.

The old country. That phrase came up now and then. A phrase that seemed to have a lock on it. I knew it meant Armenia, but it made me uneasy. If I asked about the old country, the adults would change the subject. Once my mother said, 'It's an ancient place, it's not really around anymore.' Where had it gone? I asked myself.

What did it mean for a whole civilization to be expunged from the earth? What did it mean when a people who loved and worked and built a culture on the land where they had lived for three thousand years were destroyed? What did it mean for the human race?

When a civilization is erased, there is a new darkness on the earth. I could feel dust blowing over dry land, where now blood is part of the rocks, where the water will never run clean again.

What you lost weakened you, could kill you. What you wanted kept you going. What you wanted gave you strength.

The thing that eventually strikes you about the death of someone you love is the permanence. When that hits, there is an overpowering sense of loneliness and aloneness. Those wounds do not remain raw, not forever, but they do remain.

In 1980, at independence, a man might expect to live to sixty and to see his children grow up strong and have children of their own, and if he was fortunate, a man might even live to see his great-grandchildren bring him gourds of beer before he died. But life expectancy dropped to fifty, and now it has collapsed, all the way down to thirty-three. It is hard to comprehend. At thirty-three, just as people should be in their prime, they suddenly sicken and die.

A knot of women bursts through the glass door behind us. They slump onto the kerb, weeping and rocking on their haunches. Some have babies tied to their backs in white crocheted shawls. Their grief is raw and fierce, unmediated. A couple of men in ragged jackets stand by, embarrassed and self-conscious, and a gaggle of bewildered toddlers with mango-smeared mouths look up with wide almond eyes.

El tiempo se me va de las manos y estoy furioso por la apatía de mis miembros. Y de la furia estoy a punto de perder el conocimiento.