Quotes About Loss

Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather openings in Heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.

Yet some things you miss and some things you lose by keeping your arm outstretched.

With drums and guns, and guns and drumsThe enemy nearly slew ye.My darling dear, you look so queer,Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.

The poor man had nothing, save one little ewe lamb.

A fool and his money are soon parted.

Our joys as winged dreams do fly;Why then should sorrow last?Since grief but aggravates thy loss,Grieve not for what is past.

An angel in the book of life wrote down my baby's birth, Then whispered as she closed the book "too beautiful for earth."

Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!

When we lose God, it is not God who is lost.

From battle and murder, and from sudden death.

Those who have lost an infant are never, as it were, without an infant child. Their other children grow into manhood and womanhood, and suffer all the changes of mortality; but this one alone is rendered an immortal child; for death has arrested it with its kindly harshness, and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and innocence.

Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my tears to keep My baby sleeps in Heaven's arms Peaceful with angelic charms Take my tears but grant me a kiss From the angel baby I so miss.

Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man [Abner] fallen this day in Israel?

For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again.

Money talks...but all mine ever says is good-bye.

To the person who seizes two things, one always slips from his grasp!

Mony a one for him maks mane,But nane sall ken where he is gane:O'er his white banes, when they are bare,The wind sall blaw for evermair.

She buried him before the prime,She was dead herself ere evensong time.God send every gentlemanSuch hounds, such hawks, and such leman.

In Scarlet town, where I was born,There was a fair maid dwellin',Made every youth cry Well-a-day!Her name was Barbara Allen.All in the merry month of May,When green buds they were swellin',Young Jemmy Grove on his deathbed lay,For love of Barbara Allen.

I came to the place of my birth, and cried, "The friends of my youth, where are they?" And echo answered, "Where are they?"

Lucy Locket lost her pocket,Kitty Fisher found it;There was not a penny in it,But a ribbon round it.

Ten little Indians standing in a line—One went home, and then there were nine.

A loss of any kind is horrible. Not because it takes away, but because it makes you believe- in newspapers, in tomatoes, in empty whiskey bottles.