Quotes About Loss

I try to think of something to say. Something nice, but not so wildly untrue that I'll embarrass the both of us by saying it. But it's too late. The door slams. The sound echoes through the room. He's gone. Once again.

Didn't know you then. Didn't care for you. Lost my family once. My little boy. You're my family now, Sophie. I can't lose you.

I hardly recognize you. Where's the gown and the jewellery, little sister? Where are the conch you always carried around? Where's your hair?' Desiderio asked. 'Gone, Des. It's gone. Everything's gone. Cerulea. The palace. Mum and Dad-' Her voice broke.

Sadness enfolded her like a long black cape.

Life is fragile. Life ends. But love? Love lives forever,' she told him. "Rémi wept then, like a child. From that day, little by little, he returned to us. Love brought him back.

Yeah, I understood that last night at the wreck. Nothing says I love you like a dead body.

Deana Carter sings about it. Lady Antebellum sings about it. Eric Church. Gosh, not just country artists. Katy Perry. Everybody has a song about it because everybody's been through it. You find that person at eighteen and you lose yourself. And the tragedy is, it's the person who's completely opposed to everything you've ever wanted. You bond with that person, and that person breaks your heart. I'm that tragedy for you, and you're mine.

I picture it like Judgement Day,' he says finally, his eyes on the water. 'We'll rise up out of our bodies and find each other again in spirit form. We'll meet in that new place, all of us together, and first it'll seem strange, and pretty soon it'll seem strange that you could ever lose someone, or get lost.

So this is it ? what cost me all that time. A man who turned out to be old, a house that turned out to be empty.

time's a goon

That's what death is, Danny thought: wanting to talk to someone and not being able to.

Suddenly I'm scared. That the solar panels were a time machine. That I'm a grown-up woman coming back to this place after many years. That my parents are gone, and our house isn't ours anymore. It's a broken down ruin with no one in it. Living here all together was so sweet. Even when we fought. It felt like it would never end. I'll always miss it.

What I'm Afraid Of: [...] That I'm a grown-up woman coming back to this place after many years. That my parents are gone, and our house isn't ours anymore. It's a broken-down ruin with no one in it. Living here all together was so sweet. Even when we fought. It felt like it would never end. I'll always miss it.

All that love, all that pain, all the stuff people feel – not just me and you, brother, but everyone, everyone who's ever walked this beautiful green planet – how can all that disappear when somebody dies? It can't disappear, it's too big. Too strong, too... permanent. So it moves to another frequency, where the human ear can't pick up.

Making her mark ended up not involving any of the things she'd banked on—her dancing, her beauty, her sexual confidence—in fact, all of those succumbed to it. Heroin is her great love, her life's work, and she has given up everything for it, through renunciation or sheer neglect.

All her excitement had seeped away, leaving behind a terrible sadness, an emptiness that felt violent, as if she'd been gouged.

Time's a goon, right? Isn't that the expression?

It was starting to rain, big sloppy drops spilling onto the windshield. No thunder yet. His driving was stymied by a clobbering sensation of loss. But what exactly had he lost? Himself as he had been, firm-bodied and flabby-minded? Some clarity of vision he once had possessed? Or was it the old, dormant chamber of his bicameral mind calling out to him, reminding him of the days when rocks and trees and statues had spoken with the voices of gods?

Nostalgia was the end—everyone knew that.

After my parents died, it took me months before I could carry on a conversation with someone who had not known them, who expected me to be young and sparkling and untouched by grief.

Standing under the gray sky among so many women, Anna began to understand the collective grief: Lydia had been a last still point amid so much wrenching change.

If he couldn't search or retrieve or view his own past, then it wasn't really his. It was lost.

He sensed between them an understanding too deep to articulate: the unspeakable knowledge that everything is lost.

It's all still there: the pool with its blue and yellow tiles from Portugal, water laughing softly down a black stone wall. The house is the same, except quiet. The quiet makes no sense. Nerve gas? Overdoses? Mass arrests? I wonder as we follow a maid through a curve of carpeted rooms, the pool blinking at us past every window. What else could have stopped the unstoppable parties? But it's nothing like that. Twenty years have passed.