Quotes About Loss

The dead leave us starving with mouths full of love.

History is the love that enters us through death.

Sometimes I can't look you in the eye; you're like a building that's burned out inside, with the outer wall still standing.

We must not forget what it means to be in love with another human being, Lucjan had said. For this, once lost, can no longer be imagined.

All grief, anyone's grief...is the weight of a sleeping child.

Grief strikes where love struck first.

Tragedy is the common lot of man. 'So many people have lost children' I remind myself. pp 178-179 This tragedy is such an inextricable part of my story that it cannot be left out of an honest record. Suffering - no matter how multiplied - is always individual. p 179

The capacity to love does not die when the lover dies.

Silence settled around us. He was asleep again, and my heart was full of sorrow that he should mourn the loss of virility so keenly and above all else. We might no longer be lovers, but we were bound together by our past that stretched over well-nigh thirteen years. Even in sleep, his fingers held mine and I knew he was pleased.

The years are cruel. They rob us of our health and our friends and our hopes, and give nothing back. - Pg. 146

I'm so sorry, my dear," she said quietly. "It's a shock, even though he was old. Pieces of our lives being chipped away reminds us of our own fragility, and how precious life is.

It isn't always the value of what is taken that makes us hate. Sometimes it's just the fact that we've been robbed.

But to lose is part of our human experience, as God intended it to be. The fact that it hurts to the very limit of our ability to bear is the whole point.

I can't think of anything worse than for the person you love most in the world to take their own life, without warning you, and without explaining anything at all as to why

We will all miss him, even if we don't know it is his absence that is hurting us.

Sometimes when we are drowning in our own loss we lash out--anger is momentarily easier to cope with.

Every one of them had been somebody's son, somebody's friend. Grant rubbed his hands over his face and drew in a long breath, letting it out in a sigh. "Perhaps Tallis did go mad, poor bastard. I hate this more

One can wrap the truth in palatable euphemisms for only so long, then it chokes in the throat and the lies suffocate. One ends in hating those who force the deceit by their expectancy, their fear, their cowardice, their sheer lack of understanding of the reality of pain and loss.

the cuckolded husband but there was also laughter, a pity profoundly scarred with cruelty, relief that it was someone else. There were ribald jokes, slurs against manhood—and that was the ultimate insult, the unbearable thing that robbed the stuff of life but denied the peace of death. The victim was still sentient and raw to all the awareness of his loss. He would never have brought that upon himself, never—not in hot temper nor in cold revenge.

To lose someone you love because they die is a sweet ache. To lose everything good you believed of them is a pain that stains all they left behind. It poisons the very air of memory. Ballinger

Memory was a curse, yes, he thought, but it was also the greatest gift. Because if you lost memory you lost everything.

Should we put out the light? And then put out the light. But once put out thy light, I cannot give it vital breath again. It needs must wither.

But the sky was never quite the same shade of blue again.

as they die, the ones we love, we lose our witnesses, our watchers, those who know and understand the tiny little meaningless patterns, those words drawn in water with a stick. And there is nothing left but the endless flow.