Quotes About Loss

We were so wholly one I had not thought That we could die apart. I had not thought That I could move,—and you be stiff and still! That I could speak,—and you perforce be dumb! I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof In some firm fabric, woven in and out; Your golden filaments in fair design Across my duller fibre.

The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move; Here might I hope to find you day or night, And here I come to look for you, my love, Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.

Gone, gone again is Summer the lovely. She that knew not where to hide, Is gone again like a jeweled fish from the hand, Is lost on every side. Mute,mute, I make way to the garden, Thither where she last was seen; The heavy foot of the frost is on the flags there, Where her light step has been. Gone, gone again is Summer the lovely, Gone again on every side, Lost again like a shining fish from the hand Into the shadowy tide.

Tis not love's going hurts my days, But that it went in little ways

Death devours all lovely things: Lesbia with her sparrow Shares the darkness - presently Every bed is narrow. Unremembered as old rain Dries the sheer libation; And the little petulant hand Is an annotation. After all, my erstwhile dear, My no longer cherished, Need we say it was not love, Just because it perished? — Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Passer Mortuus Est," Second April . (New York: Mitchell Kennerley, 1921)

I know what my heart is like       Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool       Left there by the tide,       A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge. — Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Ebb," Collected Poems . (Harper Perennial Modern Classics; Second Addition edition March 8, 2011)

If I had loved you less or played you slyly I might have held you for a summer more

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

After all, my erstwhile dear, My no longer cherished, Need we say it was not love, Just because it perished?

Ebb I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.

GENNARO Paise distrutte, creature sperze, fucilazione… E quanta muorte… 'E lloro e 'e nuoste… E quante n'aggio viste… (Atterrito dalla visione che gli ritorna alla memoria più viva con tutti i suoi particolari) 'E muorte so' tutte eguale…»

Llora por lo que ha perdido, mientras observa esa foto que rememora una tarde de victoria. Y llora, tal vez, por todas las veces que le ha tocado perder. Uno nunca llora por una sola cosa, cada vez que llora.

losing our boss that way had left a bitter taste, because it appeared to confirm our belief that a certain level of congenital stupidity, such as the kind he displayed like a flag, could augur a meteoric ascent in the juristic hierarchy.

Sabe que es lo peor de todo? Lo miré. No supe qué decir. - Que la voy olvidando. Le temblaba la voz. No cometí el desatino de interrumpirlo. - La pienso, y la pienso todo el día. Me despierto por la noche y me desvelo recordándola. Pero me pasa que tiendo a recordar siempre las mismas cosas. Las mismas imágenes. ¿Qué es lo que recuerdo, entonces? ¿A ella o al recuerdo que he construido en este año y pico que lleva muerta?

Era curiosa la forma como había adoptado el dolor que sentía. Había tenido tanto tiempo para prepararme para esa noticia, que más se me iba el alma en comparar lo que sentía con mis especulaciones previas que sentir ese dolor liso y llano de haber perdido a mi amigo.

que a veces se nos va

I felt as if there were invisible threads connecting us - I felt the invisible strands of her hair still winding around me - and thus as she disappeared completely beyond the sea - I still felt it, felt the pain where my heart was bleeding - because the threads could not be severed.

Boxing day will never be the same now that Muhammed Ali is gone.

Poor Hayduke: won all his arguments but lost his immortal soul.

Shine, perishing republic.

Mistakes, loss, and failure are all flashing lights clearly pointing the way to deeper understanding and creative solutions.