Quotes About Loss

I don't need again to learn the bitter lesson that everything I love is a flame between two fingers, no act undone, no word unsaid.

Interregnum of old life and new. Angry with you for this dislocation. I loved you in my other life.

I won't repeat the dream in which you leave me. Let's just say I know the world, how it alters in an instant, that I awaken sick in remorse and dread.

One thing was certain: She was probably past the point of making sure no one got hurt. Because she already knew that not seeing Cooper ever again, not feeling his body on hers, his mouth on hers, hearing him laugh, making him laugh, arguing, talking, finding notes tucked under starfish on her dashboard in the morning.

I am taking this in, slowly, Taking it into my body. This grief. How slow The body is to realize You are never coming back.

I can't even imagine how hard it is to spend time with a stranger after being married all your life. Kevin was sick a long time, but not having him at all now is much worse than I thought it would be. The only consolation is that I know he's out of pain. I'm relieved and depressed all at the same time. It's terrible," she confessed. "I thought I had grieved it all out when he fell into the coma." Morrie

really sorry you lost your sister and brother-in-law. There's never anything adequate to say in sympathy,

But for me, it is when a student has died. I find the death of a young person the most difficult and painful of times. To explain it to other young people, to see a bright future snuffed out, is just awful. I am haunted by those deaths.

Every year, I am reminded of the kids who aren't in the freshman class and aren't graduating. I remember every single one of them. That is the worst of times for me, to see the future snuffed out.

Grief never ends Ã¢â'¬Â¦ But it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love. —AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Eran extraños los caminos del corazón. Uno podía pasar años habituado a una pérdida, resignado, y después, con un pensamiento casual, el dolor volvía a la superficie, agudo y desnudo como una herida reciente.

But she had known, better than anyone else, what demons he had faced, had known how hard he had fought to free himself from them. That he had lost the fight in the end made the struggle no less honorable.

Strange the workings of the heart. One could go on for years, habituated to loss, reconciled to it, and then, in a moments unwary thought, the pain resurfaced, sharp and raw as a fresh wound.

She did not care about anything very much. Hope was gone. She existed that was all.

How many losses does it take to stop a heart, to lay waste to the vocabularies of desire?

How not to imagine the tumors ripening beneath his skin, flesh I have kissed, stroked with my fingertips, pressed my belly and breasts against, some nights so hard I thought I could enter him, open his back at the spine like a door or a curtain and slip in like a small fish between his ribs, nudge the coral of his brains with my lips, brushing over the blue coil of his bowels with the fluted silk of my tail.

It scares me, suddenly, to know I can't remember how home sounds. Not one bird call, nor the water over rocks. There's so much you can't save by writing down.

Seine Knochen schmerzten. Keiner hat ihm gesagt, dass Trauer ein Schmerz in den Knochen ist, in jeder Zelle des Körpers.

Simon Cameron: "I loved my brother, as only the poor and lonely can love those with whom they have toiled and struggled up the rugged hill of life's success—but he died bravely in the discharge of his duty.

It's just that I can't figure out how to be in this world without him. I just can't be the same.

At her funeral service, our family's reverend reminded me that "I feel great loss because I had great love." Nothing could be more true, because that is the price of great love.

I prayed she would haunt me forever. Just because she was dead, she had no right to desert me.

Piece by piece, my mother is being stolen from me.

He couldn't make her understand that. She'd not been educated beyond simple words. To her the most bitter cup was to be cut away from life. To lose this amber hair, this crimson mouth, this molten flesh; to receive in its place the cold ash of oblivion. He repeated, "There's worse things. There's wishing you could die. There's wishing you could close your eyes and your memory forever.