Quotes About Loss

Time, by moments, steals away, First the hour, and then the day; Small the daily loss appears, Yet it soon amounts to years

I think any athlete will tell you that season-ending losses stay with you for a long time. If you are one of the main reasons for a season-ending loss, it sticks with you longer.

Time waste differs from material waste in that there can be no salvage.

The time you spend grieving over a man should never exceed the amount of time you actually spent with him

Time is not kind to everything.

I have lost a brother and a best friend. The world has lost one of the greatest actors of all time.

Since the middle of the 20th century, more has been learnt about the ocean than during all preceding human history; at the same time, more has been lost.

Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.

But Time is a great traitor who teaches us to accept loss.

The desolation and terror of, for the first time, realizing that the mother can lose you, or you her, and your own abysmal loneliness and helplessness without her.

I never go to funerals. To me a person is dead when he breathes for the last time. After that, your memories should be personal.

Years, following years, steal something every day; At last they steal us from ourselves away.

There is a saying in the Neverland that,every time you breathe, a grown-up dies.

I still think that maybe the "afterlife" is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss, to make our time in the labyrinth bearable. Maybe we are just matter, and matter gets recycled

And in that moment I possessed and lost the whole world and everything in it and was left with the feeling and the knowledge, which is love, that no matter how we give ourselves we always end up losing. That to love is to lose, the moment we agree to the bargain. And that, being human, we keep standing there wanting to lose more.

DOUBLE DEATH FOR THE KIND PHILANTHROPISTS

Reynolds was thirty-three and healthy and beautiful when she died on December 16, 1998.

The fairest things have fleetest end, Their scent survives their close: But the rose's scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose. —Francis Thompson

Quando comecei a escrever histórias policiais verídicas, prometi a mim mesma que me lembraria que escrevo sobre a perda de seres humanos. Torço para que meu trabalho possa de alguma maneira salvar possíveis vítimas, alertar do perigo.

Perhaps robbing someone of his or her story is the greatest betrayal of all.

But Marisa already knew the answer and it was too late for recrimination. The chance of even a rational discussion of the problem was forever shut out of Mama's brain. A brutal bastard was steadily sucking the intelligence and the very life from the mother who had once been witty, wise and loving. The scourge had a name Marisa had come to equate with hell: Alzheimer's Disease.

When someone asks you where you come from, the answer is your mother...When your mother's gone, you've lost your past. It's so much more than love. Even when there's no love, it's so much more than anything else in your life. I did love my mother, but I didn't know how much until she was gone.

In the aftermath of death Small talk feels too small, big talk too enormous.

A week in the hospital she had told us. A hysterectomy, she had said. It had seemed unremarkable to me in a woman of forty-six long finished with childbearing, although every day that I grow older I realize there is never anything unremarkable about losing any part of what makes you female - a breast, a womb, a child, a man.