Quotes About Loss

Heroes, however, have a habit of ending up dead or bankrupt, and, as you know better than anyone, I have much to lose. At my age and in my profession, prudence is more than just a virtue, it's an instinct.

El hueco prematuro que una pérdida intuida y posible, tal vez probable, deja de antemano en el vientre y el corazón.

Entré en mi casa, vi que amancillada de anciana habitación era despojos; mi báculo, más corvo y menos fuerte. Vencida de la edad sentí mi espada, y no hallé cosa en que poner los ojos que no fuese recuerdo de la muerte.

Unas veces se pierde y otras se deja de ganar.

O tal vez también lo fuiste algún tiempo, antes de que nuestra Troya ardiera. Cuando me susurrabas declinaciones griegas y latinas mientras te esforzabas en que descifrase a Homero y Virgilio: «Háblame, oh, musa, del hombre de innumerables astucias que por mucho tiempo anduvo errante»Ã¢â'¬Â¦

Los que tienen patriotismo, fe y valor siempre pierden al final mucho más que los que no los tienen.

Aquellos a quienes he visto morir lo hacen sin gritar viva la República ni viva nada. Sólo caen y se quedan quietos para siempre.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that is purloined.

That was the problem with getting used to people - you had to miss them when they were gone.

This is the truth about things: If you take something that isn't yours, it will never belong to you. You can try to hold on to it, but somehow, it will slip through your fingers. If something wasn't meant to be yours, it won't be. No matter what you do to keep it, you will lose it.

At the loss of praise and fame, my own mind appears to me just like a child who wails in distress when its sand castle is destroyed.

Entiende que la fortuna no es sino infortunio interminable, por el desasosiego de adquirirla y guardarla y por la desolación que acompaña el perderla.

All the things they'd brought into this house; all of Elsie's things, packed up and taken away. A world delineated by this ebb and flow of items. The stuff of people's lives.

He had loved her without question and he had loved her without pause; she was certain of that. He had thought the best of her always; he'd brought her the one life sh'd wanted. Who would she be now, she wondered, without him? Who was Elsie Gormley if Clem Gormley's idea of her was no longer alive?

They are still looking for me. They rage for me. They mourn for me. They call for me. They are my remnants.

Ali Baba destroyed a dream!!!

It is not death that the very old tell me they fear. It is what happens short of death—losing their hearing, their memory, their best friends, their way of life. As Felix put it to me, "Old age is a continuous series of losses." Philip Roth put it more bitterly in his novel Everyman: "Old age is not a battle. Old age is a massacre.

One day you're going to remember me and how much I loved you... then you're going to hate yourself for letting me go.

La tristeza no desaparece, pero la desesperación debe ser contenida, pues no honra al que ha partido.

Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions!

And love? Well, if sex is sweet and death is bitter, love is both. Love will always and forever break your heart.

The French say that to part is to die a little. To be forgotten too is to die a little. It is to lose some of the links that anchor us to the rest of humanity.

You write because everything dies, to save what dies.

To be heartbroken means to have a story