Quotes About Loss

I think Brother Albert hit it on the head. Life is loss. But out of that, as the book stresses, comes freedom. If we can accept that nothing is permanent, and change is inevitable, if we can adapt, then we're going to be happier people.

Lying all night, holding Clara, he'd dared to hope that the worst was over. That maybe the grief, while still there, would today allow some of his wife to be present. But the woman he knew and loved had been swallowed up. Like Jonah.

Lying all night, holding Clara, he'd dared to hope that the worst was over. That maybe the grief, while still there, would today allow some of his wife to be present. But the woman he knew and loved had been swallowed up. Like Jonah. Her white whale of sorrow and loss in an ocean of body fluid.

This is what comes of trust and friendship, loyalty and love, thought Peter. You get screwed. Betrayed. You get wounded so deeply you ca barely breath and sometimes it kills you. Or worse. It kills the people you love most.

Grief was dagger-shaped and sharp and pointed inward. It was made of fresh loss and old sorrow. Rendered and forged and sometimes polished.

His magical thinking allowed him to be surprised that when such a good soul dies it isn't remarked. The bells of the church didn't set themselves off. The mice and deer didn't cry out. The earth didn't shudder. It should have.

The dead woman's name is Jane Neal,' Gamache knew it was a false kindness to cushion a blow like this.

The old Hadley house was abandoned now. Had been empty for months. But Peter knew it wasn't empty. For one thing he'd left part of himself in it. Not a hand or a nose or a foot, thank God. But things that had no substance but fantastic weight. He'd left his hope there, and trust. He'd left his faith there too. What little he had, he'd lost. There. Peter

But Peter knew it wasn't empty. For one thing he'd left part of himself in it. Not a hand or a nose or a foot, thank God. But things that had no substance but fantastic weight. He'd left his hope there, and trust. He'd left his faith there too. What little he had, he'd lost.

They settled, just for one blessed instant, on a place that held love, not loss.

And then he remembered. And lost her again, the island drifting farther out to sea. For Robert Mongeau there would always be a before and an after. All events would henceforth be dated from Sylvie alive and Sylvie dead.

He fell silent, remembering. And then he remembered. And lost her again, the island drifting farther out to sea. For Robert Mongeau there would always be a before and an after. All events would henceforth be dated from Sylvie alive and Sylvie dead.

This village was old, and you don't get to be old without knowing grief. And loss.

one day Jean-Guy Beauvoir understood that when people died, they didn't go away. They were very much alive in the minds, in the hearts, in the vivid memories of those left behind. And they were not always easy to live with. Some ghosts had demands.

You lost your heart, your memories, your laughter, your brain and it even took your bones. Eventually it all came back, but different. Rearranged.

If one hadn't died with a hole in her heart,' said Nichol. Clara winced.

Grief was dagger-shaped and sharp and pointed inward. It was made of fresh loss and old sorrow. Rendered and forged and sometimes polished. Irene

Loss was like that, Gamache knew. You didn't just lose a loved one. You lost your heart, your memories, your laughter, your brain and it even took your bones. Eventually it all came back, but different. Rearranged

Much missed by… Why were there no words that felt? Words that when you touched them you'd feel what was intended? The chasm left by the loss of Madeleine? The lump in the throat that fizzed and ached. The terror of falling asleep knowing that on waking she'd relive the loss, like Prometheus bound and tormented each day. Everything had changed. Even her grammar. Suddenly she lived in the past tense. And the singular.

She put another small log on the fire and listened to the quiet murmur of Peter and Ben. She couldn't make out the words, just the familiarity. Another wave of sadness enveloped her. She'd lost her murmuring partner. The one with whom she made comforting noises.

You lost your heart, your memories, your laughter, your brain and it even took your bones. Eventually it all came back, but different. Rearranged. 'Had you known Madame

I know, I know, I know she's with God," said Robert. "I know she's at peace. But oh God, oh God.

violent death did that. It was an eclipse, blocking out all that was beautiful, joyous, kind or lovely. So great was the calamity.

I am a pop widow.