Quotes About Loss

Your grandfather was a hero in a war, girls. He wasn't a bad man or a weak man. Maybe he was too old to have a second family, a second wife and your mother and me, so many years after he lost his first. Maybe he was too old to fight anymore, and that's why he let me be taken away. I've thought about this for years and years. All I know is there are no heroes in this world. Not really. Just men and women who become old and tired and lose the strength to fight for what they love any longer.

For in a real tragedy, it is not the hero who perishes; it is the chorus.

VIII O when so much has been and gone behind you—grief, to say the least— expect no help from anyone. Board a train, get to the coast. It's wider and it's deeper. This superiority's not a thing of joy especially. Mind you, if one has to feel as orphans do, better in places where the view stirs somehow and cannot sting.

Zawsze szuka ratunku ten, komu Å›wiat runÄ…Å' i potrzebna jest pomoc, bo pogubiÅ' nogi, a w dodatku nie widzi Å›niegu. PóÅ'noc. PóÅ'noc. Wszystko to prowokuje do tego stwierdzenia, które nocÄ… z podwójnÄ… ostroÅ›ciÄ… siÄ™ jawi: jedni siÄ™ nie spalajÄ… w tych samych pÅ'omieniach, które z innych tymczasem mogÄ… pozostawi? poÅ'owÄ™ ich postaci zaledwie (...)

The usual hero adventure begins with someone from whom something has been taken, or who feels there is something lacking in the normal experience available or permitted to the members of society. The person then takes off on a series of adventures beyond the ordinary, either to recover what has been lost or to discover some life-giving elixir. It's usually a cycle, a coming and a returning.

In comparison with all this, our little stories of achievement seem pitiful; Too well we know what bitterness of failure, loss, disillusionment, and ironic unfulfillment galls the blood of even the envied of the world!

He has yet to confront society with this ego-shattering, life-redeeming elixir, and take the return blow of reasonable queries, hard resentment, and good people at a loss to comprehend.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre/The falcon cannot hear the falconer;/Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,/The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere/The ceremony of innocence is drowned.

Hallo, Eeyore." "Same to you, Pooh Bear, and twice on Thursdays," said Eeyore gloomily. Before Pooh could say: 'Why Thursdays?' Christopher Robin began to explain the sad story of Eeyore's lost house.

With rue my heart is ladenFor golden friends I had,For many a rose-lipped maidenAnd many a lightfoot lad.

we shall never be what we were again'. Old love's refrain.

The end of a summer day; Sweet love dead.

I attended the burial of all my rosy feelings:I performed the rites, simple and decisive.

Por entonces, en octubre de 1902, el padre de Max, que obstinadamente desaprobaba el uso de abrigos, cogió una pulmonía. Murió tres días, después, a los cuarenta y cuatro años.

To lose the earth you know, for greater knowing: to lose the life you have, for greater life: to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving, to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth— —Whereon the pillars of this earth are founded, toward which the conscience of the world is tending—a wind is rising, and the rivers flow.

There are women who will never get to know their fathers and won't get over it. There are women who have had to know their fathers and won't get over it. There are women who know what it is to live with a man, but who will never know what it is to marry a man; and there are women who know what is to marry a man, but who will never know what it is to live.

In a very little time they got to the corner of the field by the side of the pine wood where Eeyore's house wasn't any longer. 'There!' said Eeyore. 'Not a stick of it left! Of course, I've still got all this snow to do what I like with. One mustn't complain.

Being in the place of a mother to you, since your poor mother died, I say this, Audrey—when a gentleman goes to Australia, he has his reasons. And when he stays in Australia fifteen years, as Mr. Mark says, and as I know for myself for five years, he has his reasons. And a respectably brought-up girl doesn't ask what reasons.

Halt by the headstone naming The heart no longer stirred, And say the lad that loved you Was one that kept his word.

I sought them far and found them, The sure, the straight, the brave, The hearts I lost my own to, The souls I could not save They braced their belts about them, They crossed in ships the sea, They sought and found six feet of ground, And there they died for me.

He would not stay for me, and who can wonder? He would not stay for me to stand and gaze. I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder, And went with half my life about my ways.

The year might age, and cloudy The lessening day might close, But air of other summers Breathed from beyond the snows, And I had hope of those. They came and were and are not And come no more anew; And all the years and seasons That ever can ensue Must now be worse and few. So here's an end of roaming On eves when autumn nighs: The ear too fondly listens For summer's parting sighs, And then the heart replies.

Give me a land of boughs in leaf A land of trees that stand; Where trees are fallen there is grief; I love no leafless land.

With Rue My Heart Is Laden With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipt maiden And many a lightfoot lad. By brooks too broad for leaping The lightfoot boys are laid; The rose-lipt girls are sleeping In fields where roses fade.