Quotes About Loss

Never will anyone know you better than he who has known you when everything you have has been stripped away.

Sometime love is taken away unjustly, but not until the very end do you stop believing, and then it is very bitter. It is bitter because somewhere within you the perfect standard still lives, the pure expectation against which failure and betrayal are contrasted like the dark shadows on a moonlit road.

battle—a sense that time does not exist, that he himself was of no account, that all things were connected and orchestrated far beyond human will, and that the world was saturated with beauty no matter what the loss.

heartbroken that lines so loyal, stubborn, and courageous for so long would come to a vacuous end.

All Quiet on the Western Front

The hours you spent reading this really do represent an irrevocable loss for you. You can never get that time back. That part of your life is gone forever. I'm profoundly grateful to you for that.

Misery If peace comes from seeing the whole, then misery stems from a loss of perspective.

And further, the thing put to rest—whether it be a loved one, a dream, or a false way of seeing—becomes the fertilizer for the life about to form. As the well-used thing joins with the earth, the old love fertilizes the new; the broken dream fertilizes the dream yet conceived; the painful way of being that strapped us to the world fertilizes the freer inner stance about to unfold.

Death is the Mother of Beauty

Out of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most.

what is joy without sorrow? what is success without failure? what is a win without a loss? what is health without illness? you have to experience each if you are to appreciate the other. there is always going to be suffering. it's how you look at your suffering, how you deal with it, that will define you.

They acted in only two small events—three, if love counts. Falling in love, like having a baby, rubs against the current of our lives: separation, loss, and death. That is the joy of them.

When we lose our innocence—when we start feeling the weight of the atmosphere and learn that there's death in the pot—we take leave of our senses.

I realize that I have left part of myself in a place where I shall probably never come back.

Sauver quelque chose du temps où l'on ne sera plus jamais.

Thank you, Lord, for this good life. Thank you for the love and time, fleeting as it seemed, we've had together. Thank for your grace and mercy on us poor, pitiful creatures who have tried to do your work, to follow you in love and goodness, and all too often failed and fell short. Thank you for the wonder of this world and the promise of the next. Thank you, Lord, for giving me my Mama and for taking her soon to be with you...Amen.

They are all dead now.

July I The British plan is this: a million shells to cut the Boche wire. Shoulder your seventy-pound pack as usual. Go over the top. Walk towards the German lines, they'll all be dead by now. Keep walking til you hit Berlin. In four and a half hours, fifty thousand Britons and Canadians are shot. That afternoon, the British plan is revised: do everything as before. But this time, run. Abe is killed walking. Rudy is killed running.

Fresh sorrows reactivate old ones. We go to the same well to grieve, and it's fuller every time.

Everybody should come here. Everyone should see how complicated, how deeply troubled, and yet at the same time, beautiful and awesome the world can be. Everyone should experience, even as the clouds gather, what's at stake, what could be lost, what's still here.

Life was clearly a cruel joke. A place with no guarantees, built on a foundation of false assumptions if not outright untruths. You think everything's going okay… Then they shoot your fucking dog.

Era mais um agente funerário do que um médico; acho que nunca consegui salvar um único paciente. Estavam em estado terminal quando eu chegava; quando muito consegui prolongar-lhes a agonia.

You got shook and shook till there was nothing left. You lost your name and your body and your self and you just didn't care.

And then, before he told me, I knew what it was. The old ptitsa who had all the kots and koshkas had passed on to a better world in one of the city hospitals. I'd cracked her a bit too hard, like. Well, well, that was everything. I thought of all those kots and koshkas mewling for moloko and getting none, not any more from their starry forella of a mistress. That was everything. I'd done the lot, now and me still only fifteen.