Quotes About Loss

You're the man now,' she said to me after my father died, 'you're the man.' Then she turned to Popeye, our calico tom, and said, 'You're the cat now, Popeye, you're the cat,' as if she'd always worn a veil over her face and had never known we were men and cats all along.

September 12, 2001 Paris Last night on TV I watched people jump from the windows of the World Trade Center.

You're the man now," she said to me after my father died, "you're the man." Then she turned to Popeye, our calico tom, and said, "You're the cat now, Popeye, you're the cat

he couldn't have been more than a few hours old when he died. Even in a jar, that kid has outearned me.

As we walk into the store, he confides that his biggest regret is that Melina never got to have sex, that he ruined all that by getting her spayed.

She'd never expressed any great interest in the outdoors, so I scattered her remains on the carpet and then vacuumed her back up.

Era un desatino que luego de un bombardeo me llevaran cadáveres de tuberculosos o de alguien que rodó por las escaleras o de un viejo que no pudo más con su vejez o de una mujer que se quedó en el parto; eran muertos de segundo orden, pues no llevaban la aureola de víctimas, sino de meros impertinentes.

De ahí que la amistad aparezca representada por pactos de sangre, lealtades eternas e incluso mitificada como una variante del amor más profunda que el vulgar afecto de las parejas. No debe de ser tan sólido el vínculo cuando la lista de amigos perdidos es siempre mayor que la de amigos conservados.

Aquel último intento de reconciliación tenía un amargo sabor a despedida, a beso en la mejilla. Cuando recibes un beso en la mejilla de una mujer a la que has besado tantas veces en los labios, debes saber que has perdido tu lugar en su corazón.

The lesson, so simple yet so difficult, is that life can be savored even though it contains hardship, disappointment, loss, and even brutality. The choice to see its beauty is available to us at every moment.

he knew no secrets to a long life, he knew plenty about a happy life. Through tragedy and loss, poverty and setbacks, missteps and blown chances, he maintained a steadiness, an evenness, and a self-reliance that today might be called resilience. He had a gift for seizing joy, grabbing opportunities, and holding on to things that

During times of peace, the sons bury their fathers, but in war it is the fathers who send their sons to the grave. —HERODOTUS, THE HISTORY

All great autobiography is about loss, about the hopeless but necessary quest to retrieve and control a past that forever slips away. Memory is both inspiration and burden, method and subject, the thing one cannot live with or without.

Lester Tourville stared at his plot in horror as the impeller signatures of sixty-eight Republican ships of the wall abruptly vanished. Seventeen continued to burn on the display for another handful of seconds. Then they, too, vanished in what he devoutly hoped was a frantic hyper translation.

The only choice we have as we mature is how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we become larger and more courageous and more compassionate through our intimacy with disappearance, our choice is to inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully, or conversely, as misers and complainers, reluctant and fearful, always at the gates of existence, but never bravely and completely attempting to enter, never wanting to risk ourselves, never walking fully through the door.

Solace is what we must look for when the mind cannot bear the pain, the loss or the suffering that eventually touches every life and every endeavour; when longing does not come to fruition in a form we can recognize, when people we know and love disappear, when hope must take a different form than the one we have shaped for it.

It was frightening to wake up in the morning and know that love did not last, no matter how it was treated.

Loss is the hardest thing, I said. But it's also the teacher that's the most difficult to ignore.

It was one of those rare times when remembering the dead was more inmportant than tending to the needs of the living.

A scar is not always a flaw. Sometimes a scar may be redemption inscribed in the flesh, a memorial to something endured, to something lost.

We are all the walking wounded in a world that is a war zone. Everything we love will be taken from us, everything, last of all life itself. Yet everywhere I look, I find great beauty in this battlefield, and grace and the promise of joy.

That is, Jack thought, the way of life. The horror changes us, because we can never forget. Cursed with memory. It starts when we're old enough to know what death is and realize that sooner or later we'll lose everyone we love. We're never the same. But somehow we're all right. We go on.

But the more people we love and the more deeply we love them, the more vulnerable we are to loss and grief and loneliness.

Time doesn't, as advertised, heal all wounds. Although the wrenching immediacy of grief eventually passed, the settled sorrow that replaced it might in its own way be even more intense.