Quotes About Loss

It's not fun to lose.

In December 1988, my mother died of lung cancer. I died too. I couldn't function.

I love theatre, but it is losing its value in Punjab. There are no funds or government back up.

I done been to so many funerals.

To make sure I learned the etiquette of grieving, Granny took me with her to the many funerals she attended. O Death, where is thy sting? Search me. I grew up looking at so many corpses that I still feel a faint touch of surprise whenever I see people move.

This is the saddest story I have ever heard.

These trenches are like Pompeii, sir.

There won't be any more parades after this war. There aren't any now.

No, any great grief, though the grief itself may have gone, leaves in its place a train of horrors, of misery, and despair.

He loves deep... hates hard, ever'thing's that killed what he loves. All great warriors are sich men.

I felt total bad about it, and empty. Granpa said he knew how I felt, for he was feeling the same way. But Granpa said everything you lost which you had loved give you that feeling. He said the only way round it was not to love anything, which was worse because you would feel empty all the time.

I have lost the consolation of faith/ though not the ambition to worship

At which point my grief-sounds ricocheted outside of language. Something like a drifting swarm of bees. At which point in the tetric silence that followed I was swarmed by those bees and lost consciousness. At which point there was no way out for me either.

At which point I grew old and it was like ripping open the beehive with my hands again. At which point I conceived a realm more real than life. At which point there was at least some possibility. Some possibility, in which I didn't believe, of being with her once more.

The break-hard determination to be a good person, what happened to that? How is it true I have to go now? She's lost my name, but the occasion of my presence begs more. Who is my mother now I am unspoken for?

We know well only what we are deprived of.

La muerte no nos roba los seres amados. Al contrario, nos los guarda y nos los inmortaliza en el recuerdo. La vida sí que nos los roba muchas veces y definitivamente.

Where are the snows of yesteryear?

You can lose a friend in springtime easier than any other season if you're too curious.

Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady, he had gone on rather hesitatingly. An' mother she thinks maybe she's about Misselthwaite many a time lookin' after Mester Colin, same as all mothers do when they're took out o' th' world. They have to come back, tha' sees. Happen she's been in the garden an' happen it was her set us to work, an' told us to bring him here. Mary

It was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she had neither father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried away in the night

You can lose a friend in springtime easier than any other season if you're too curious.

She is my mother," said Colin complainingly. "I don't see why she died. Sometimes I hate her for doing it.

who had lost her mother