Quotes About Loss

It grieves me to tell you," Jamie said, and meant it. "Sixty years from this time, the Tsalagi will be taken from their lands, removed to a new place. Many will die on this journey, so that the path they tread will be called Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â He groped for the word for "tears," did not find it, and ended, "the trail where they wept.

But her father was gone, replaced by a violent stranger; a man who had her face, but could not understand her heart, a man who had taken both family and home from her, and not satisfied with that, had taken love and safety too, leaving her bereft in this strange, harsh land

I'm sorry; I had meant to offer you my condolences on the loss of your wife," I said, rather formally. He looked surprised for a moment, then bowed his head in acknowledgment, matching my formality. "It is a coincidence that you should say so at the moment," he said. "I had just been thinking of her.

Do you miss her greatly—your wife?" I felt a bit hesitant about asking, but he didn't seem to find the question intrusive.

Do you know—" he began, then stopped. He looked down at his clenched hands, then, not at me. A blue stone winked on one knuckle, bright as a teardrop.

When I'd lost him the first time, before Culloden, I'd remembered every moment of our last night together. Tiny things would come back to me through the years: the taste of salt on his temple and the curve of his skull as I cupped his head; the soft fine hair at the base of his neck, thick and damp in my fingers... the sudden, magical well of his blood in dawning light when I'd cut his hand and marked him forever as my own. Those things kept him by me.

remembering so acutely Jamie's flesh and weight and ardor, and so urgently wanted him to be Jamie that I had succeeded for an instant in thinking that he was, only to be crushed like a grape at the realization that he wasn't, all my soft insides spurting out. Had he felt or thought the same things, waking to find me there beside him?

I have been more fortunate than most, I suppose," he said quietly. "There was the one thing he would take from me." His expression softened as he looked down into the face of the boy in the palm of his hand. "And he has given me something most precious in return.

got up. She couldn't lie in bed mourning what was lost; it was no

I knew from the first glimpse that he was dead. But I ran to him". There was no way in which to describe his feelings, because he hadn't had any. The world had simply ceased in that moment, and with it, all his knowledge of how things were done. He simply could not see how life might continue. The first lesson of adult life was it, horribly, did.

War seldom looks on the faces of its dead

I only wondered Ã¢â'¬Â¦ have you Ã¢â'¬Â¦ been quite alone all this time? Since your wife died?

Well, I don't suppose it's an impt—impeddy—impediment, after all. Not as though he'd lost his cock, I mean. He hasn't, has he?

And his place shall know him no more.

Joy was not quite universal; here and there, small parties of subdued Highlanders could be seen making their way across the hills, carrying the still form of a friend, plaid's end covering a face gone blank and empty with heaven's seeing.

It wasn't stubbornness, nor even loyalty, that had made Willie insist on staying at the Ridge. It was love of John Grey, and fear of his loss. And it was the same love that made the boy weep in the night, desperate with worry for his father.

He was not afraid to die with her, by fire or any other way—only to live without her.

You have to understand," I said. "He—I—we were separated by the war, the Rising. Each of us thought the other was dead. I found him again only—my God, was it only four months ago?

The year after I was born," I said, "there was a great epidemic of influenza. All over the world. People died in hundreds and thousands; whole villages disappeared in the space of a week. And then came the other, my war.

I won't forget you, she said silently to the dead. It seemed so pitiful a thing to say—so small and futile. And yet the only thing in her power.

If the loss of Ian haunts my dreams, the loss of you haunts my days, Jamie.

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you," he said. "What?" she said, startled. "Who said that?" "Should I be hurt that you didn't think it was me?" he said, laughing. "It's A. A. Milne. From Winnie-the-Pooh, if you can believe it.

would I come one day to a point when nothing in me stirred to the sound of a crying baby, to the scent of a man aroused, to the brush of my own long hair against the skin of my naked back? And if I did come to such a point—would I mourn the loss, I wondered, or find myself peaceful, left to contemplate existence without the intrusion of such animal sensations?

She was ten when our mother died, Jenny