Quotes About Loss

In the environmental movement, every time you lose a battle it's for good, but our victories always seem to be temporary and we keep fighting them over and over again.

In 1891, the Indians who remained everywhere poked their heads aboveground and surveyed the desolation of their homelands and asked the question Indians had been asking since the beginning: What can we do next to survive?

Perhaps no other aspect of Indian education during the sixty years of the boarding school era is more tragic than the fact that the school grounds at Carlisle and Haskell and all the other schools included graveyards

Quien no ha perdido a quien quiere mientras le dice todo está bien, no pasa nada, no sabe lo que es el amor.

Uno muere a plazos, en contra de lo que pensamos. Porque el final del amor es lo más parecido a la muerte para todos aquellos que no han experimentado la muerte real, que es sin discusión lo más parecido a la muerte. Los muertos, justo antes de morirse, ponen un gesto de ah, vaya, era esto. En cambio, en el final del amor nadie entiende nada, ¿qué es esto?, nadie me había contado nada de esto, porque no reconoce a la muerte entregando uno de sus plazos.

Creí enamorarme un par de veces, pero en realidad seguía enamorado de alguien que ya no estaba conmigo.

They show us more often Than not how to die At the same time and in more ways Of doing both, of taking the first Out of the heart of the other And spreading it around…

you have nothing

have your chocolate stolen?

But for the want of a nail, a kingdom was lost

A man. A dead man. A dead man with no arms.

Nothing lasts forever, not even the horrors in this life.

The ecstasy of seeing her versus the agony of losing her, a million births and a million deaths.

One day I will say the gift I once had has been taken, the place I have made for myself belongs to another, and the words I have sung are being sung by the ones I would want. Then I will be ready for that voice and the still silence in which it arrives. And if my faith is good then we'll meet again on the road and we'll be thirsty, and stop and laugh and drink together again from the deep well of things as they are. ...

But solace also asks us very direct and forceful questions. Firstly, how will you bear the inevitable loss that is coming to you? And how will you endure it through the years? And above all, how will you shape a life equal to and as beautiful and as astonishing as a world that can birth you, bring you into the light and then just as you were beginning to understand it, take you away?

The room is still quite cold when the list of achievements is read but the atmosphere quickens when you hear what they loved, what they held in their affections…you realize what you learn you have lost [in someone dying] is you've lose what they loved and everything else is like chafe blown away.

To consciously become close is a courageous form of unilateral disarmament, a chancing of our arm and our love, a willingness to hazard our affections and an unconscious declaration that we might be equal to the inevitable loss that the vulnerability of being close will bring.

A welfare system that was originally designed to compensate men for the loss of earnings is slowly and messily redesigned to compensate women for the loss of men

There is no one quite as angry as someone who has just lost a lot of money.

I remembered a friend of mine dying from AIDS, and while he was visiting his family on the coast for the last time, he was seated in the grass during a picnic to which dozens of family members were invited. He looked up from his fried chicken and said, "I just want to die with a big dick in my mouth.

David has won everything he coveted and lost everything he cared for. This snapshot of agony sums up for generations the price of power, the intersection of family and public life, the way in which we injure ourselves and are then staggered by the pain.

His house had burned down. That meant he needed … everything. Clothes. Heartburn pills. Replacement contact lenses in case he lost one. Dandruff shampoo. Some Oreos. A book.

Anyhow, Molly died, in the way that all really good things die, fast and brutal and for no apparent reason.

Good-bye, my dancer, my friend, my One and Only. I love you.