Quotes About Loss

We lost one chef in an unfortunate flambé accident.

They are looking for the smooth remains of bottles, shiny coins of broken glass worn smooth by the sea. This is what happens when things break. The pieces separate, scatter. They are battered by the elements, buffed and polished smooth, then deposited on far-off beaches. All your hopes and dreams.

Death was not an intellectual conceit. It was an existential black hole, an animal riddle, both problem and solution, and the grief it inspired could not be fixed or bypassed like a faulty relay, but only endured. And

Death, so permanent for the dead, should be more than just an afternoon activity for the mourners.

Was man verloren hat, findet sich manchmal wieder, aber was man aufgegeben hat, kommt nie zurück.

Instead, Emerson came to accept that when someone dies, things that belong to you disappear, too.

Yet part of her life seemed gone, a voice of love from the other end of a telephone was missing.

Romance goes like this: Boy gets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl again. The end. It can't be any other way.

The most peaceful memory I have is of when I drown.

Adeline, who is the girl that she once was, the bright Victorian girl shut behind dark paneled doors with her thirteen, fifteen, eighteen years of life and a Greek lexicon. She is the girl stopped in time who could not speak or feel at the side of her dead mother's bed. She keeps the cold, clear information of those days, unclouded by revision or the lies of age.

I don't want to lose anyone else I care about... for reasons I don't understand! I swore to myself I would do whatever necessary to prevent that from ever happening again!

The real tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside of us while we live.

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.

the Welsh name for 'England', Lloegr, meant 'the Lost Land', I fell for the fancy, imagining what a huge sense of loss and forgetting the name expresses. A learned colleague has since told me that my imagination had outrun the etymology. Yet as someone brought up in English surroundings, I never cease to be amazed that everywhere which we now call 'England' was once not English at all.

Even Rudyard Kipling, that most patriotic of poets, whose only son was killed on his first day on the Western front, could write in 1919, in the persona of a dead soldier, "If any question why we died / Tell them 'Because our fathers lied.

A professional soldier understands that war means killing people, war means maiming people, war means families left without fathers and mothers.

War is a profane thing.

The story of loss and regaining of identity is the framework, I think, of all literature

Qué es lo que nos retiene aún aquí? Los amados descansan hace tiempo. En su tumba termina nuestra vida; miedo y dolor invaden nuestra alma. Ya no tenemos nada que buscar –harto está el corazón–, vacío el mundo.

I'm sorry, is what she means to say. Sorry, sweetheart, about the elephants. About the sea turtles with their heads lopped off, and the friendly, machine-gunned whales. About the owls, my love, and the antelope. About the drowning bears...

A bugler sounded the Last Post. Heartbreak made audible.

I could not tell you the date of my mother's death. I could not tell you the date of my dad's death. These are not dates that I find significant.

Beni ölünce onun yanaklar?ndaki gamzelere gömsünler. ?? ??? ??? ??? ?? ??? ???????? ?? ??? ???? .

Sen birden çökeceksin Selim. Çünkü neden? Çünkü için bo? senin. Birden, kollar?m?n aras?nda için bo?alarak; birden üçüncü boyutunu kaybedip bir düzlem olacaks?n ve ben de seni duvarda bir çiviye asaca??m.