Quotes About Loss

Julia looked back at Hadassah on the bloodstained sand. A great emptiness opened within her as she looked at the still form. Gone, too, was the salt that had kept her from completely corruption.

Grief is deeper when the sun goes down and memories rise up with the moon and stars.

Everyone to whom she drew close left her. Sooner or later they walked away.

We grieve for those we've lost, but it's the living that cause us the most pain....

I think about what I've lost instead of thinking about what I have.

Death began to look like a friend.

Su mente le decía que lo que había salido mal nunca podría ser corregido. Lo que se había perdido nunca podría ser recuperado. Pero su corazón tenía esperanzas

Books can be bought. A house can be rebuilt, darlin. You can't be replaced.

Ou sont les neiges d'antan?

Et Jehanne, la bonne Lorraine, Qu'Anglais brulerent a Rouen, Ou sont-elles, Vierge souv'raine, Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?

I miss you, dad.

The sudden loss of her father was like living with a wound that would never heal, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day.

Hatter, my love, we never got a chance to say good-bye. --Weaver

The challenge of life, present for most of it but more dominant in the second half, is adjusting to loss or, more specifically, developing the judgment and grace not only to accept its inevitability but also to recognize that it's not the only trajectory, that there are many ways to meet and measure it and that there are consolations, including all that remains. Cherishing those leftovers—those holdovers—is the key to thriving, and sometimes even to surviving.

Sometimes a limit or a loss is, as I mentioned in an earlier chapter, a gateway to experiments that you wouldn't have sought, skills that you wouldn't have acquired, insights that you wouldn't have gleaned. You just have to allow for that prospect and finesse that perspective.

What delicious abandon in the sleep of the child. Where do we lose it?

Jessica stopped beside him: 'What delicious abandon in the sleep of a child.' He spoke mechanically: 'If only adults could relax like that.' 'Yes.' 'When do we lose it?' He murmured… 'We do indeed lose something,' she said.

One of the most terrible moments in a boy's life," Paul said, "is when he discovers his father and mother are human beings who share a love that he can never quite taste. It's a loss, an awakening to the fact that the world is there and here and we are in it alone. The moment carries its own truth; you can't evade it. I heard my father when he spoke of my mother. She's not the betrayer, Gurney.

Flesh that had cried in ecstasy, eyes that had burned him with their desire, the voice that had charmed him because it played no tricks of subtle control—all gone, back into the water and the sand.

He felt the inability to grieve as a terrible flaw.

He passed off the loss of a spice crawler with a gesture. The threat to men's lives had him in a rage. A leader such as that would command fanatic loyalty. He would be difficult to defeat.

Grief is the price of victory

My father rules an entire planet. He's losing it.

I remember friends from wars all but we forgot. All of them distilled into each wound we caught. Those wounds are all painful places where we fought. Battles never left behind, ones we never sought. What is it that we spent and what was it we bought?