Quotes About Loss

S'il existe un cimetière des mots arrachés aux êtres qui comprennent, je veux pouvoir m'y promener.

No book, no matter how sad, can be as sad as a life.

You will forget. Life is like that. Everything goes in time. Memories blur, pain diminishes. I remember my wife as one remembers a bird or a flower

Don't be sentimental. Everything dies

Virginity is like a balloon. One prick and it's all gone.

He did not answer, nor did he watch as I left. He was seeing Sigismund again, dwelling on replies he could never speak to a brother he had once admired and who had died despising him.

Of his entire life, the worst moments had been during the three or four months after Nora had died, when he'd awakened to the heart-constricting knowledge that she wasn't there anymore.

She's a person; the doctor pronounces her dead, not the news.

The lights of my generation have almost all gone out.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, all that stuff. Death takes everyone. Most of us too early, a few of us not early enough.

If hearts could shatter, mine just did.

All moving objects, creatures with souls and mechandise that goes spoiled are by no means viable investments (From my late grandmother Zahra Belfkih)

bir daha hiç geri gelmemek üzere yitip gitmiÅŸ bir mutluluÄŸu olduÄŸu gibi koruyabileceÄŸine, zaman ak???n? durdurabileceÄŸine, her ÅŸeyin eskisi gibi olabileceÄŸine inan?yordu.

Su ölüye hediyedir. Ölünün ruhu hayata susam??l?kla kavrulur ve an?lar?n suyundan içmeyi arzular ama yaln?zca unutulman?n suyundan içebilir.

memory of her grief

I could not help it. I began to sob. For the father I had never known, and for his desperate escapade which had filled everyone else with pain. But mainly I sobbed for myself, for the shambles I had made of my life, for what I had already lost and for what I feared I was still to lose.

Evin sessizliÄŸi beni boÄŸuyordu ve bana onu hat?rlatan çok fazla eÅŸya vard?.

For millions of people, she could hear him say with thattremulousintensity of his, moving is a moment of ruin and failure, a defeat that is no longer avoidable, a desperate flight, going from bad to worse, from home to homelessness, from citizen to refugee, from living a tolerable or even contented life to vile horror.

I'm afraid, you're right...though not only of them. We'll lose everything, including the way we live,' Hussein said. 'And these young people will lose even more. One day they'll make them spit on all that we know, and will make them recite their laws and their story of the world as if it were the holy word. When they come to write about us, what will they say? That we made slaves.

He doesn't visit me in dreams, but the smell of garlic on my fingers reminds me of him and, by extension, he loss of him. Sulfurous, maybe a little shameful, the smell reminds me of love.

History dressed up in the glow of love's kiss turned grief into beauty.

Death wins nothing here, gnawing wings that amputate–– then spread, lift up, fly.

Millions of tears have fallen for black sons, brothers, lovers, and friends whose assailants took or maimed their lives and then simply went on their way.

It's not just a matter of having lost the land and the wealth that came with it. It's a matter of the fact that we lost a way of life that we should have been able to pass on to our children and to their children, but which we can't because of what was taken from us. (Harris Neck, Georgia native Wilson Moran as quoted by Aberjhani in The American Poet Who Went Home Again)