Quotes About Loss

assaulted and robbed, and many of his companions were killed.

Besides, it's always other people who die.

Comme rien n'est plus précieux que le temps, il n'y a pas de plus grande générosité qu'à le perdre sans compter.

The only paradise is paradise lost.

The true paradises are the paradises that we have lost.

People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad.

Love is not vain because it is frustrated, but because it is fulfilled. The people we love turn to ashes when we posess them.

And then, gradually, the memory of her would fade away, I had forgotten the girl of my dream.

It is grief that develops the powers of the mind.

It is not because other people are dead that our affection for them grows faint, it is because we ourselves are dying.

Les vrais paradis sont les paradis qu'on a perdus.

She was not yet dead. But I was already alone.

He sat there silent, watching their love expire.

I thought nothing at all, but I felt an immense sadness, as when two parts of one's past existence, which have been anchored near to one, and upon which one has perhaps been basing idly from day to day an unacknowledged hope, remove themselves finally, with a joyous flapping of pennants, for unknown destinations, like a pair of ships. As

And indeed when we are no longer in love with women whom we meet after many years, is there not the abyss of death between them and ourselves, just as much as if they were no longer of this world, since the fact that we are no longer in love makes the people that they were or the person that we were then as good as dead?

première et légère esquisse du chagrin que cause une séparation et des progrès irréguliers de l'oubli

Aunt Léonie who, after the death of her husband, my Uncle Octave, no longer wished to leave, first Combray, then within Combray her house, then her bedroom, then her bed and no longer 'came down', always lying in an uncertain state of grief, physical debility, illness, obsession and piety.

but the loss of a memory, like the omission of a phrase during reading, rather than making for uncertainty, can lead to a premature certainty.

We fear more than the loss of anything else the disappearance of possessions that have remained outside ourselves, because our hearts have not taken possession of them.

An impression of love is out of proportion to the other impressions of life, but when it is lost in their midst we are incapable of appreciating it.

For every death is a simplification of existence for the others, removes the necessity to show gratitude, the obligation to pay visits.

The suppression of suffering? Can I really have believed it, have believed that death merely strikes out what exists, and leaves everything else in its place, that it removes the pain from the heart of him for whom the other's existence has ceased to be anything but a source of pain, that it removes the pain and puts nothing in its place? The suppression of pain!

His life and family circle changed considerably between 1900 and 1905. In February 1903, Proust's brother Robert married and left the family apartment. His father died in September of the same year. Finally, and most crushingly, Proust's beloved mother died in September 1905.

I veri paradisi sono i paradisi che abbiamo perduto.