Quotes About Loss

So this was what it felt like to lose yourself. Again. To let go of your future and let it rise up and up until finally you couldn't see it anymore, and you knew that you had to start over.

What if she never knows the end of the story? She shudders, and her mind continues to lurch forward into the future, that simple expectation of time passing - another moment, and another moment. It seems impossible that it will abruptly cease. It seems impossible that you will never know what happens next, that the thread you've been following your whole life will just... cut off, like a book with the last pages torn out. That doesn't seem fair, she thinks.

This was what real grief felt like—she had never truly felt it before. All the times she had been sad, all the times she had wept in her life, all the glooms and melancholies were merely moods, mere passing whims. Grief was a different thing altogether.

It is not like a premonition of death. It is as if she died a long time ago, and she just now remembered it.

But you can't escape from heartache. That's the rub. It always finds a way back.

What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is.

What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind. How true that is.

Once the consecration of property was made, there was no retrieving one's former holdings should there be a loss of faith—"Behold thou shalt conscrate all thy properties that which thou hast unto me with a covena[n]t and Deed which cannot be broken & they Shall be laid before the Bishop of my church … & it shall come to pass that the Bishop of my church after that he has received the properties of my church that it cannot be taken from you."26

Her grief still burdened her, and she knew she would bear it the rest of her days.

This last mute touch that lingers is farewell.

The Potomac had taken away Linda and the boys. The Rio Negro had given him Daniela. One river had swallowed his heart; another river, halfway around the world, had gifted it back. A different heart, beaten up, scarred, but a beating heart at least.

She could live without her past. She was better off without her past. But Ian couldn't live without his heart.

he had a strong premonition that ship had already sailed, been set on fire by pirates and sunk into the sea.

I'm tired of hurting, Lord. I'm tired of being scared. I'm tired of losing.

The walls were coming down around me, but still, I couldn't imagine telling the truth. Not now. It was too late. How can I tell Mom and Dad what we'd done? It would ruin everything. It would ruin their image of me; it would ruin every thought they'd ever had about who I was. It would be another death.Another loss. Another miscarriage.

Why was so much noticed only in the breach, in the loss, by the regret-filled longing for what was left behind?

He'd found her weeping one day the previous week, huddled over a much-thumbed copy of a mystery, one of a series. In this one the heroine's lover had died. She took it as a personal affront—"I can't believe she did that! How could she do that?"—and threw the book across the room, only to retrieve it a moment later and force him to listen to her read the death scene out loud.

I'm glad that my parents missed one thing that was really unbelievable. They saw me hit this great success. It was a blast and we had a lot of laughs. And it was just an amazing time. They passed away. And then after I got, you know, famous, all these haters came out of nowhere.

then, the tears spilled over and began to drip quietly down her cheeks. Without a word, he pulled her close, rubbing her back as she buried her face against his chest and quiet sobs shook her. Then he lifted his gaze and looked out to sea—where the wind raced, where the horizon stretched empty, and where somewhere, a grieving father was surely missing his capricious daughter.

As my grandmother always said, there was only one perfect person to ever walk this earth, and God took him back.

Mr. Tibble bowed his head, and Amanda was immediately sorry she'd spoken with such cool disdain. She did not like to see timid Mr. Tibble quake, but she was having a hard time controlling her displeasure. The envelope she'd let fall to her lap, standing out so glaringly white against the skirt of her black bombazine gown, might contain a letter from her deceased parents using just the sort of tender words she'd longed to hear from them

they did," murmured Amanda, remembering anew the horrible night she learned of the carriage accident that had instantly killed her father and mother. As an only child, Amanda had had to deal with all the arrangements for the funeral with only her two aunts,

What does the end of a war mean if not that one side ran out of men willing to die?

Within this accomplished group the parental-loss club turned out to be standing room only.