Quotes About Loss

Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.

Every hour, she thinks, someone for whom the war was memory falls out of the world.

What the war did to dreamers.

He was about twenty-six when he died

remembering his great-uncle and his affection for him, Octavius burst into tears.

offered his life for his son's, and was executed. The son then committed suicide. Octavian watched them both die.

Augustus' signet ring was removed from his finger. His eyes were closed.

in the night, seeing that all hope was gone, every single man committed suicide.

Eventually, only one person was left beside the ashes—Julia Augusta, widow and now daughter of the dead princeps.

More than twenty thousand men, one third of the army, were lost in the month it took to march

Only ten thousand of his men survived the debacle. Humiliatingly, many legionary standards were captured.

Something more serious, though, was taking place in his personality: a gradual and growing loss of focus.

Of the three legions' fifteen thousand men, few survived to tell the tale.

Quinctilius Varus, give me back my legions!" He kept the anniversary as a day of deep mourning.

He immediately set out from Rome, but Agrippa was dead when he arrived.

All was lost now. All the dreams of whatever God had created for them, lost. He wondered in that moment why it was that he had been born and survived the war, only to meet this fate, here, in his home country. Maybe he had never had a life, but was only a figurine played out on a master game board.

A Meeting In a dream I meet my dead friend. He has, I know, gone long and far, and yet he is the same for the dead are changeless. They grow no older. It is I who have changed, grown strange to what I was. Yet I, the changed one, ask: "How you been?" He grins and looks at me. "I been eating peaches off some mighty fine trees.

to live is to harbour so many profound losses.

I loved the Boy with the utmost love Of which my soul is capable, And he is taken from me – Yet in the agony of my spirit In surrendering such a treasure I feel a thousand times richer Than if I had never possessed it.

But if it be never - if I can never hold sweet converse again with her, or look upon her face, or know from her her love; why, then, this side the grave, I will live as becomes the man whom she loves...

Why love if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore only the life I have lived. The pain now is part of the happiness then.

Nice day for a funeral.

He had tattooed all of the names of the men he had killed on his body...unfortunately he had run out of room.

He didn't want to remember anymore. remembering only hurt him... everytime.