Quotes About Loss

I had lost my job. I was no longer officially a minor historian. Perhaps I was history itself, flailing around in a number of directions, sometimes all of them at the same time.

Ideas come to us as the successors to griefs, and griefs, at the moment when they change into ideas, lose some part of their power to injure the heart.

Time has shattered, it's cracking like my lips.

I wasn't in the mood to talk. The mournful sound of the rubber wheels of the tea trolley squeaking on the lino floor was the right soundtrack for the end of the world. Sometimes the tea lady lost her grip and the trolley hit the corners of the walls and beds. It was the equivalent of waterfalls and parrots in my new terrible world.

I am upset today, Lapinski, because my friend is dying... I spread my loneliness out like a fan in front of you. He is my comrade, Lapinski. Holding on to the hands of the clock with his fingertips. For me. We hang on for each other.

Murder: The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language defines it as "the unlawful killing of one human being by another, especially with malice aforethought." The mother of a murdered child has a different definition: "The blackest hell accompanied by a pain so intense that even breathing becomes an unendurable labor." I know; I am the mother of a murdered child.

I began to call friends and relatives. Some called me. They'd heard the news on the radio. Others just came by. I greeted each one in the foyer. Few words were spoken. Mostly, we embraced. People often say they don't know what to say to someone like me at a time like this. Nothing need be said. The presence of those you care about is comfort enough; a warm embrace communicates far more than words do.

I'll just be a memory," he says. "There are so many people who were so real to me in their lives, and now they're just memories.

IT'S 1996; MY father is eighty-eight. I arrive for a visit at their Westchester condo. My mother greets me at the door. After we've hugged and kissed, my father appears at the end of the hallway. It's taken him longer to rise from his chair. He isn't carrying the cane he finally agreed to use after his last fall. He stumbles, but the wall catches him. Something inside me rebels: who stole my father and put this old man in his place?

She is leaving him, not all at once, which would be painful enough, but in a wrenching succession of separations. One moment she is here, and then she is gone again, and each journey takes her a little farther from his reach. He cannot follow her, and he wonders where she goes when she leaves.

Whatever is eating her brain consumes only the fresher memories, the unripe moments

But now I know, while beauty lives So long will live my power to grieve.

Never get too attached to any thing, son. Somebody will be there to take it from you.'" And

It's better to have loved and lost, than to live with a psycho for the rest of your life

He was impressed by Standing Bear's simple statements of why he had come back north, his stoic acceptance of conditions over which he had lost control. "I thought God intended us to live," Standing Bear told Crook, "but I was mistaken. God intends to give the country to the white people, and we are to die. It may be well; it may be well." 12

Their musical names remained forever fixed on the American land, but their bones were forgotten in a thousand burned villages or lost in forests fast disappearing before the axes of twenty million invaders.

The Navahos could forgive the Rope Thrower for fighting them as a soldier, for making prisoners of them, even for destroying their food supplies, but the one act they never forgave him for was cutting down their beloved peach trees.

When Joseph died on September 21, 1904, the agency physician reported the cause of death as "a broken heart.

It was sad when Sid Vicious died... I was freaked out when Phil Lynott died from Thin Lizzy. I cried. It was too crazy.

If he didn't love so deeply, he couldn't grieve so deeply. But he's drowning in it.

Faith would get her through when she had to face tomorrow, but her grief needed the tears to fall. There was healing in those tears.

The sun appeared over the hillside. "I'm tired, Tom." "It's okay to go home,' he choked. "Hold my hand?" His arms tightened around her and his fingers interlaced with hers. She closed her eyes against the brightness. "I love you." "I love you too," he whispered. Jennifer died feeling the warmth of the rising sun

The ego wants to acquire things out of insecurity, out of a sense of lack. Remind yourself that everything comes and goes except the soul. It's from the soul that a person gains a sense of inner fulfillment. The soul lacks nothing and therefore has no anxiety about the outside world: gain is not a need, loss is not a threat.

As their bodies faded, he saw something else more clearly. Each person carried an invisible burden. The young monk was amazed that he hadn't seen it before. Everyone walked or rode with their lives on their shoulders, a pack of memories that spilled over with disappointment and sorrow. This one had never recovered from losing a wife in childbirth. That one was afraid of starving. That other one