Quotes About Loss

I will miss you, doodle dog," Ethan said to me.

My purpose, my whole life, had been to love him and be with him, to make him happy. I didn't want to cause him any unhappiness now—in that way, I decided it was probably better that he wasn't here to see this, though I missed him so much at that moment the ache of it was as bad as the strange pains in my belly.

Ojalá no llorara por mi muerte. Mi propósito, toda mi vida, había consistido en amarlo y en estar con él, en hacerlo feliz. No quería provocarle ninguna clase de infelicidad ahora, así que en ese sentido pensé que era mejor que él no estuviera allí para verlo, aunque lo echaba mucho de menos y la nostalgia era tan fuerte como el dolor que sentía en la barriga.

I wrote the first novel in the A Dog's Purpose series to convince my then girlfriend, Cathryn Michon, that despite the pain of losing her dog Ellie, we should adopt a puppy. (It worked: we brought little Tucker into our family, and Cathryn liked the story so much she married me!)

When were the people coming back? Where was my boy? Now that I'd found the boy and figured out that my job was to be near him, how could he go away and leave me? When I'd gotten myself out of the big yard and gone into the world, looking for what I needed, I'd never imagined this. Would I be alone forever?

When we have lost everything, including hope, life becomes a disgrace, and death a duty.

His Bolshevik revolution had not brought peace to Russia, but a terrible civil war in which 28 million Russians had lost their lives. The principles of socialism which Lenin had forced upon the people had not brought increased production as Marx had promised, but had reduced production to a point where even in normal times it would not adequately clothe nor feed half the people.

Two items from two different suppliers met the specifications, yet they were sufficiently different for one to be usable, the other usable only with costly rework, a heavy loss to the plant. The explanation was that one supplier understood what the blocks were to be used for , the other did not - he mere satisfied the specifications.

By mourning tongues The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

Now the leaves are falling fast, Nurse's flowers will not last, Nurses to their graves are gone, But the prams go rolling on.

The mass and majesty of this world, all That carries weight and always weighs the same Lay in the hands of others; they were small And could not hope for help and no help came: What their foes like to do was done, their shame Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride And died as men before their bodies died.

Now all my teachers are dead except silence.

Like shadowsof the plumbingthat is all that is leftof the great city.

We keep asking where they have gone those years we remember and we reach for them like hands in the night

If a nation values anything more than freedom, it will lose its freedom; and the irony of it is that if it is comfort or money that it values more, it will lose that too.

Any nation that thinks more of its ease and comfort than its freedom will soon lose its freedom and the ironical thing about it is that it will lose its ease and comfort too.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed ...

Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all my ladders start, In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is lost The best lack all conviction, while the worst are filled with passionate intensity.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world

We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died?

I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, I walk in a battle fought over again

The Nineteenth Century And After Though the great song return no more There's keen delight in what we have: The rattle of pebbles on the shore Under the receding wave.