Quotes About Loss

Markets are actually set up so that most traders must lose money

The answer is to draw a line between a businessman's risk and a loss. As traders, we always take businessman's risks, but we may never take a loss greater than this predetermined risk.

Why do most traders lose and wash out of the markets? Emotional and mindless trading are big reasons, but there is another. Markets are actually set up so that most traders must lose money. The trading industry slowly kills traders with commissions and slippage.

Sorry about your sausage dog.

We all had to say goodbye, sooner or later, to those we love--or they had to say goodbye to us. Those were the only two possibilities that this world allowed. But no matter how much we tried to face up to it, it never became easier.

You say that you lost your child. You know how I feel then. You know that, don't you? It's a sadness that never goes away.

The realisation of our mortality came slowly, in dribs and drabs, until we bleakly acknowledged that everything was on loan to us for a short time—the world, our possessions, the people we knew and loved. But we could not spend our time dwelling on our mortality; we still had to behave as if the worst would not happen, for otherwise we would not do very much, we would be defeated and give up.

Late people do not altogether leave us, she thought; they are still with us in memories such as that, wherever we are, no matter what time of day it was or how we were feeling, they were there, still shining the light of their love upon us.

We all had to say goodbye, sooner or later, to those we loved—or they had to say goodbye to us. Those were the only two possibilities that this world allowed. But no matter how much we tried to face up to it, it never became easier.

When Emma was five, Mrs. Woodhouse died. Emma did not remember her mother. She remembered love, though, and a feeling of warmth. It was like remembering light, or the glow that sometimes persists after a light has gone out.

He thought of all the ways that so many people felt about life. Life was a matter of regret--how could it be anything else? We knew that we would lose the things we loved; we knew that sooner or later we would lose everything, and beyond that was a darkness, a state of non-being that we found hard to imagine, let alone accept.

all the good things that we have in life are on temporary loan, at best, and can be taken away from us in an instant.

The sight of such beauty can make us quiet with fear; fear that it might not be real, fear that it might be taken from us, as is everything that we love, which is only on loan to us.

She used the expression that the Batswana preferred: to become late. There was human sympathy here; to be dead is to be nothing, to be finished. The expression is far too final, too disruptive of the bonds that bind us to one another, bonds that survive the demise of one person. A late father is still your father, even though he is not there; a dead father sounds as if he has nothing further to do--he is finished.

What we have, we all must lose—that applied to everything, even to that which we thought we had the greatest right. We were tenants of this earth—nothing more.

She wanted everything back, as we do sometimes in our irrationality and regret; we want it all back.

None of us, she thought, wants the world we know to come to an end; we do not want familiar things to be taken from us.

You can lose a piece of plain bread and not think twice about it, but when you lose one spread thickly with strawberry jam it's an altogether more serious matter.

Memories of that which we have lost are curious things - weeks, months, even years may pass without recollection of them and then, quite suddenly, something will remind us of a lost friend, or of a favourite possession that has been mislaid or destroyed, and then we think: Yes, that is what I have had and I have no longer

She had lost her baby, and where was she? She hoped that her baby was happy and would be waiting for her when she left Botswana and went to heaven. Would Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni get round to naming a wedding date before then? She hoped so, although he certainly seemed to be taking his time. Perhaps they could get married in heaven, if he left it too late. That would certainly be cheaper.

Life is a progression of partings," said the psychotherapist. "One by one, people—and things too—are taken from us. We lose them, they die, they are shown by us to be things of transitory association." "I'm sorry," said Ulf. "So am I," said Dr. Svensson.

My old friend," he began, "is down below, his face we'll see no more, for what he thought was H2O was H2SO4

The world was a lonely place, a place of transience, of change, of loss; only the bonds, the ties of friendship and family protect us from the loneliness

It was a prolonged, mournful howl, into which Cyril put all the sorrow of the canine condition: a howl that seemed to express deep nostalgia for the woods, for the snowy wastes of his lupine ancestors' ancient homelands, for all the sense of loss and separation that a dog feels when his master, his reason for living, his sun, is no longer there.