Quotes About Loss

Right now, when I think of all my AIDS dead, one of the things they all have in common is about forty conversations just like the one Dave and I had, where each guy talked about death in his own way. Later, they get sick and die in very predictable patterns. Lets face it, this death itself is no longer extraordinary, emotionally, to me.

Nothing is ever resolved," Rita said, tired. "That's one of those fake concepts. How can you resolve with a man dead at thirty-four? What kind of peace can you make with that? Lately I've been thinking that the conflict is for the best. Because then we are not pretending that anything about this can ever be reasonable.

These are stories but the pain they contain is immeasurable. The impact of these losses requires a consciousness beyond most human ability. We grow weary, numb, alienated, and then begin to forget, to put it all away just to be able to move on. But even the putting away is an abusive act. The experiencing, the remembering, the hiding, the overcoming—all leave their scars.

Oh, but this,' I think I say, 'is perfect! This is all I have longed for! What are you gazing at? Do you suppose a girl is sitting here? That girl is lost! She has been drowned! She is lying, fathoms deep. Do you think she has arms and legs, with flesh and cloth upon them? Do you think she has hair? She has only bones, stripped white! She is as white as a page of paper! She is a book, from which the words have peeled and drifted--

Kitty's gone, Flo. Like Lilian. Believe me, there's more chance of her coming back!' I began to smile. 'And if she does, you can go to her, and I won't say a word. And if Kitty comes for me, you can do similar. And then, I suppose, we shall have our paradises - and will be able to wave to one another from our separate clouds. But till then - till then, Flo, can't we go on kissing, and just be glad?

If I had said, I love you, she would have said it back; and everything would have changed. I might have saved her. I might have found a way—-I don't know what-—to keep her from her fate.

And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do.

My soul left me—I felt it fly from me and lodge in her.

She said that that was the disadvantage of bringing creatures into the house: one grew used to them, and then, one had the upset of their loss. The

You may say that, now Dawes has gone. You didn't think our locks so hard—nor our matrons, perhaps—when they kept her neat and close, for you to gaze at!

shall grow dry and pale and paper-thin—like a leaf, pressed tight inside the pages of a dreary black book and then forgotten.

And what will your sister do if her husband should die, and she should take another? Who will she fly to then, when she has crossed the spheres? For she will fly to someone, we will all fly to someone, we will all return to that piece of shining matter from which our souls were torn with another, two halves of the same.

And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed.

Being in love, you know... it's not like having a canary, in a cage. When you lose one sweetheart, you can't just go out and get another to replace her.

Wrestling with the darkness has left me more committed to this path than I could ever have imagined. And with one last beautiful question that guides me in my most personal moments: "What is left if we might lose it all?" My answer gets more beautiful by the hour: nature, humanity, and my wildly alive love of it all.

Annie knew that her mother's marbles were loose, but had never suspected that one day they would all fly out of the bag at the same time, bouncing into far-flung corners, never to be gathered together again.

That she cried over the loss of a dog whose big claim to fame was that he could eat the crotch out of a pair of clean underpants in less than a minute?

People do not die from suiside; they die from sadness

Then May gave way to June, and it felt as if time was slipping through her fingers.

It felt like he´d taken a piece of her heart with him in his carry-on luggage

I always thought I hated the bastard, but knowing that I'm never going to get the chance to tell him how much I hated him breaks my heart.

I suppose the things that you always take for granted, that you don't even notice, are what you miss the most.

Even when I had it, it was never mine. Not the ring...or you.

Losing a parent is something like driving through a plate-glass window. You didn't know it was there until it shattered, and then for years to come you're picking up the pieces -- down to the last glassy splinter.