Quotes About Loss

Be cautious, please. I should hate to lose the pleasure of your conversation.

Goddamn it, I am sick of watching people I like get killed. I like get killed. I am even sicker of getting people I like killed. It's not an acquired taste, let me tell you, every drink is bitter as the last. And they never get easier to swallow.

I'm not going to like you," I told her. "Your friends killed my friends. There's no payback for a debt as big as the one you owe me.

She shoved the thought of Genie's giant bright lost eyes into the same box where she kept the memories of Leah, Carver, her mother and father, and Papa Georges.

David's hand rest on Sebastien's shirt front and cravat, over where his heart would have beat when he still lived. The pressure felt like a trap, suddenly, and Sebastien pulled away and stood, flicking his suitjacket straight, with his thumbs.

Great passion led so easily to great tragedy.

Elaine was stolen away, and I'm willing to sacrifice her if I must.

I couldn't have called after her. My throat was full of thorns and no words could have gotten past.

I'd believed. And now I couldn't believe anymore. And I missed that believing so much. This must be what losing your religion feels like.

She sits down and puts her hand to her chest and rocks. Thinks of all she has lost and will lose. All she has had and will have. It seems to her that life is like gathering berries into an apron with a hole. Why do we keep on? Because the berries are beautiful, and we must eat to survive. We catch what we can. We walk past what we lose for the promise of more, just ahead.

Well, anyway, her death changed our lives for the better, because it brought a kind of awareness, a specific sense of purpose and appreciation we hadn't had before. Would I trade that in order to have her back? In a fraction of a millisecond. But I won't ever have her back. So I have taken this, as her great gift to us. But. Do I block her out? Never. Do I think of her? Always. In some part of my brain, I think of her every single moment of every single day.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

"Fun"—it always seemed to leave you at a loss.

—And Friday, my dear Friday, died of measlesseventeen years ago come March.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;so many things seem filled with the intentto be lost that their loss is no disaster.Lose something every day. Accept the flusterof lost door keys, the hour badly spent.The art of losing isn't hard to master.

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seemed filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Even losing you (a joking voice, a gesture/ I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident/ the art of losing's not too hard to master/ though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

In her eyes I saw the pain that comes from regrets that will never be lifted.

It is queer to be in a place when someone has gone. It is not two other places, the place that they were there in, and the place that was there before they came. I can't get used to this third place or to staying behind.

The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out.

It is queer to be in a place when someone has gone. It is not two other places, the place that they were there in, and the place that was there before they came. I can't get used to this third place or to staying behind.