Quotes About Loss

It may have been the light at 5:36 on a June evening or it may have been the smell of dust combined with sprinkler water or the sound of the neighbour kid screaming I'll kill you but suddenly it was like I was dying, the way I missed her. Like I was swooning, like I was going to fall over and pass out. It was like being shot in the back. It was such a surprise, but not a very good one. And then it went away. The way it does. But it exhausted me, like a seizure.

That's the third death this year,' mused Mr Willet, his eyes on the rooks wheeling against the sky. . . . 'Like a stab wound, every time,' he said. 'Leaves a hole, and a little of your life-blood drains away.

And now Emily Davis was dead! Or was she, wondered Jane? What was that saying about those who lived in the hearts of others? Something to the effect that they never really died. If that were the case, then Emily Davis would certainly live on.

Life could never be quite as sweet again. A vital part of her had died, it seemed, with Arnold's going; a part which beauty, work or the love of friends could not replace. But from these sources came a measure of comfort for which she was humbly grateful. She learnt, at this time, the invaluable lesson of find happiness in little things, and by picking up small crumbs of comfort as she went about her daily work nursed her damaged spirit back to health.

When you're used to hearing purring and suddenly it's gone, it's hard to silence the blaring sound of sadness.

I don't know why they call it heartbreak. It feels like every other part of my body is broken too.

I wish the Ganges could wash the grief from my heart, but it can't.

Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.

We all lose somebody we care about and want to find some comforting way of dealing with it, something that will give us a little closure, a little peace.

Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them.

Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.

When someone is in your heart, they're never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.

Have you ever lost someone you love and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be here forever? If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back.

Jay saw no sign of the more than twenty-seven hundred people22 who'd arrived at the Twin Towers that morning as workers, visitors, or emergency responders, or as airplane passengers and crew, but who'd soon be counted among the departed.

Roughly three thousand children6 under age eighteen lost a parent on 9/11, including 108 babies born in the months after their father's death.

In their Connecticut home, Lee and Eunice Hanson watched the televised explosion of the plane carrying their son, Peter, daughter-in-law, Sue Kim, and granddaughter, Christine. The strike into the South Tower ended the Airfone call between Peter and Lee. Later, Eunice realized: "We heard his first cries and his last cries." They endured the unspeakable, and yet they endured.

For girls, war meant having the upper halves of one or more fingers chopped off each time a close relative was killed, to satisfy the dead person's ghost.

Within six minutes of the crash,35 the first person fell or jumped. At least 110 more lives would end that way from the upper stories of the North Tower.

Mom and Dad were married 64 years. And if you wondered what their secret was, you could have asked the local florist - because every day Dad gave Mom a rose, which he put on her bedside table. That's how she found out what happened on the day my father died - she went looking for him because that morning, there was no rose.

And there would be more partings, more losses, more wounds, over and over, again and again. He could change his destiny a hundred times, and each time another loss or separation would be waiting for him on the other side. As long as there is happiness, there will be sadness. As long as there is fortune, there will be misfortune.

On the evening my mother-in-law died, the noise of a chance sudden downpour resounded in the walkway and through the garden, roaring as though everything around us were being hammered by a fall of pebbles. That was why I was unable to catch what she said in the last moments before her eyes closed.

Il nonno dimenticò che il sole, dopo aver brillato, si oscura, che la luna divenuta piena comincia a declinare, che un recipiente pieno si capovolge e che alla prosperità segue la decadenza; e commise un grave errore nel voler organizzare un grande funerale per la nonna.

Lui è morto, ma io voglio continuare a vivere. Il grano nei campi dev'essere falciato

Every year, you lose a bit of potential.