Quotes About Loss

Lost. The therapist made it sound as if the person could be found. As if death wasn't final and irrevocable.

Her mom's voice trembled as she read aloud: "We lost our beloved Sandy yesterday, 10 A.M. Stop. She died peacefully — no pain. Stop. We're flying her home to West Virginia for burial. Stop. Package for Dawn to follow. Stop. The Chandlers.

Ursula is something I will never feel again: she is Melancholy, cut into the soul and flesh.

A vida não tece apenas uma teia de perdas, mas nos proporciona uma sucessão de ganhos.

The Dog Hair The dog is gone. We miss him. When the doorbell rings, no one barks. When we come home late, there is no one waiting for us. We still find his white hairs here and there around the house and on our clothes. We pick them up. We should throw them away. But they are all we have left of him. We don't throw them away. We have a wild hope—if only we collect enough of them, we will be able to put the dog back together again.

She can't say to herself that it is really over, even though anyone else would say it was over, since he has moved to another city, hasn't been in touch with her in more than a year, and is married to another woman.

As long as everything stayed the same, it seemed possible for him to come back. As long as everything was the way he had left it, his place was open for him. But if things changed beyond a certain point, his place in my life began to close, he could not reenter it, or if he did, he would have to enter in a new way.

First they burned her - that was last month. Actually just two weeks ago. Now they're starvng him. When he's dead, they'll burn him too. Oh, how jolly. All this burning of family members in the summertime.

Sometimes the grief was nearby, waiting, just barely held back, and I could ignore it for a while. But at other times it was like a cup that was always full and kept spilling over.

She is bending over her child. She can't leave her. The child is laid out in state on a table. She wants to take one more photograph of the child, probably the last. In life, the child would never sit still for a photograph. She says to herself, "I'm going to get the camera," as if saying to the child, "Don't move.

That fall, after the summer when they both died, she and my father, there was a point when I wanted to say to them, All right, you have died, I know that, and you've been dead for a while, we have all absorbed this and we've explored the feelings we had at first, in reaction to it, surprising feelings, some of them, and the feelings we're having now that a few months have gone by--- but now it's time for you to come back. You have been away long enough.

She begins to write to Pierre, a sort of laboratory notebook of grief.

Once she was gone, every memory was suddenly precious, even the bad ones, even the times I was irritated with her, or she was irritated with me. Then it seemed a luxury to be irritated.

The first New Year after they died felt like another betrayal--we were leaving behind the last year in which they had lived, a year they had known, and starting on a year that they would never experience.

Heart weeps. Head tries to help heart. Head tells heart how it is, again: You will lose the ones you love. They will all go. But even the earth will go, someday. Heart feels better, then. But the words of head do not remain long in the ears of heart. Heart is so new to this. I want them back, says heart. Head is all heart has. Help, head. Help heart.

Él no se mató, no. Murió como..., como todo el mundo un día muere.

Cuando se quiere de esa manera, es muy difícil vivir con un recuerdo que no se entiende. Como lo estoy viviendo yo ahora.

Sentei-me no chão roendo os sequilhos e chorando porque queria a minha mãe, não a que saiu de mantilha mas a que ficou no retrato.

This reminds me of the old saying about a guy who owned four farms. He lost three of them drawing to inside straights and lost the fourth one when he made it.

she couldn't remember anything after eating her

The groove is so mysterious. We're born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away. I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.

it was on Rawlins's shoulders that they sobbed their hearts out when their babies were taken from them.

That bitch of a war killed the lady I really loved -- the Great Society.

Victory is no longer a truth. It is only a word to describe who is left alive in the ruins