Quotes About Loss

I've heard them lilting, at the ewe milking,Lasses a' lilting, before dawn of day;But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning;The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.

My mother killed herself when I was 12. I won't complete that relationship. But I can try to understand her.

So the years passed and everyone grew old and Nell's husband died and Hilda grew to be a large, angry sort of woman very high up in local government. When Nell was eighty-four Hilda retired and they went to live at a sea-side place where Hilda had had meaningful holidays during the menopause with a woman called Audrey, now dead.

Memory changed for both Edward and Elisabeth. There were fewer people now to keep it alive.

Pompei Quante case diventano una Pompei vivente, non spolverate, non sgombre La catastrofe non è soltanto improvvisa I cuori si fermano in tutti i modi non solo uno A volte la chiave di casa va perduta a volte la serratura A volte il significato di una fine sta nel bussare che non è stato fatto p#163

Every pocket I put you in had its hole.

Almost I took you as husband, love. Then you left me. I took surprise for husband instead.

There's just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet having squandered a fortune far away. And how can you not forgive? You make a feast in honor of what was lost, and take from its place the finest garment, which you saved for an occasion you could not imagine, and you weep night and day to know that you were not abandoned, that happiness saved its most extreme form for you alone.

It's as though I keep reliving the loss, not just Bryce's death, but my accident. Every time change drops by and wants to be fed, I wonder if I'll have enough or if it'll eat me out of house and home." "Grief's ravenous, isn't it? I suppose that's where the emptiness comes from, and we keep trying to fill it with Ã¢â'¬Â¦ food and blame, irritations and what all. Keeping busy.

When your father died, I thought I'd die too. But then your heart keeps beating, you keep taking breaths and getting hungry and needing sleep, so you know you're not dead. One day, something makes you laugh and you're ripped with guilt because you can. A month passes and then a year, and you've gone on with your life even knowing you couldn't, but you do.

A tragedy tears away a hope; a kindness brings it back.

About the time I turned 50, I experienced the profound biological change that often accompanies women at that age. Also, I put two kids in college and lost both of my parents, so I'm no longer somebody's daughter.

Hope, wish, dream, need. Heartbreak, loss, pain, grief. Which was bigger, which was stronger? Love was stronger, but was there enough love here? Was there enough love to mend their hearts and make them work? How would she know? How could she know?

I was depressed, but that was a side issue. This was more like closing up shop, or, say, having a big garage sale, where you look at everything you've bought in your life, and you remember how much it meant to you, and now you just tag it for a quarter and watch 'em carry it off, and you don't care. That's more like how it was.

She had never felt so alone or frightened in her life. She had come to Berlin to feel closer to her mother, and had found instead danger and death.

She pictured the diaphanous wings of flies glittering like cut coal in the air above her friend's body.

The few certainties in our existences are pain, death and bereavement.

It is winter now, and the roses are blooming again, their petals bright against the snow. My father died last April; my sisters no longer write, except at the turning of the year, content with their fine houses and their grandchildren. Beast and I putter in the gardens and walk slowly on the forest paths. [from the poem, Beauty and the Beast: An Anniversary ]

Lynx, why are you staring at me like that?" she asked. He straightened and shrugged. "I was just thinking how close I came to losing you. Now that I have you, Callie, I can't imagine my life without you." -Calinda & Lynx

Some days later Susan and I went to the city for an X-ray, and Susan was found to have tuberculosis, and was put in one of the small rooms down the corridor next to Margaret and to Eva who woke one morning, vomited, and died, and her mother, a small woman with bandy legs and wearing a grey coat, came to collect her things.

Death steals a part of you.

My heart was already cracked, but this one word, gone, was the stone that broke it.

It was like having your teenager sell a spin in your Ferrari for a dollar. The more rides he sells, the more money he makes, until he wrecks your Ferrari.

Biographers rue the destruction or loss of letters; they might also curse the husband and wife who never leave each other's side, and thus perform a kind of epistolary abortion.