Quotes About Loss

Hennes Bengt var så snäll. Han skulle aldrig svika någon eller ljuga. Älskad av alla. Hon vänder sig om igen och stirrar på kistan där hennes son ligger. Tänker, med en sorg som plötsligt överväldigar henne helt, att hon inte kände honom alls.

It's more difficult for a mother to forget one child than for living humanity to forget all the millions who died in this war.

When avoidance becomes pervasive, it is known as phobia. Phobias develop in different ways. A phobic reaction is one in which a person feels his environment has let him down. As essential component is a perceived loss of control.

Death doesn't make you sad- it makes you empty. That's what's so bad about it. All of your charms and beliefs and funny habits fall fast through a big black hole, and suddenly you know they're gone because just as suddenly, there's nothing left at all inside.

His father was killed when he was only six years old.

quando perdi qualcuno e questo qualcuno ti manca, tu soffri perché la persona assente si è trasformata in un essere immaginario: irreale. Ma il tuo desiderio di lei non è immaginario. Così è a quello che devi aggrapparti: al desiderio. Perché è reale.

The upshot was that she lost her religion - with a vengeance - and walked out on him, taking these three daughters with her. Faith, Hope and Brenda.

Even so tiny a loss has the power to still feel like a loss.

And of course there was the loss of women, some of whom he still woke up aching for. He'd study their remnants alone at night - slips of paper bearing old phone numbers. Photographs. A mitten. In bed he would stare at the ceiling, trying to seize on the exact feeling of a particular woman's head on his chest. It's weight, the smell of her hair.

They say you don't grow up until you lose your parents. Frankly, I'd prefer to be immature.

The real cruelty of dying was not the way your own obscene dreams went gray. It was the fact that you lost the chance to tell your story.

I would have liked to play the piano. Once at a concert an elderly lady leaned toward me: "You are a pianist, aren't you?"—"Unfortunately not, madam," I had to answer with regret. Even today, the thought that I don't play the piano and never will play it suffocates me, sometimes even more than the horrors, the dark river of my past carrying me through the years. I literally can't get over it.

It's a matter of life after death, now that he's dead I have a life.

Sometimes there aren't words, Benny knew. Sometimes there are hurts so deep that they exist in a country that has no spoken language, a place where all landscapes are blighted and no sun ever shines. Benny had left his footprints in the dust of that place.

When Tony lost it, it would be up to Ruger to take Lady Death by the tits and giver a good tweak. That's how he saw it. Give Lady Death's tits a good tweak.

Every single zom, every man, woman and child, no matter how decayed or how frightening they are, no matter how dangerous they are—they were all once real people. They had names, and lives, and personalities, and families. They had dreams and goals. They had pasts and they thought they had futures, but something came and took that away from them.

The way Benny saw it, when your first memory was of zombies killing your parents, then you had a license to hate them as much as you wanted.

Well, she sure don't hold the deed on grief and loss, son. We all been mussed and mauled by bad times. But that girl's done gone and shut down. I met gray people with more personality." She tapped her temple with a finger. "I'm beginning to suspect there ain't nobody home.

You, however, are a psycho bitch who shot my dog.

It was why Lilah did not fear death. So many of the people she loved were waiting for her there.

No one replied to that. It was a hopeful statement, but hope seemed to be lying dead somewhere out in the Ruin. For Benny, hope had died with a little girl back at Sanctuary. He looked for some inside his heart, but all he found there was a dark and murderous rage.

Riot: Close to three hundred million Americans have died, son, during the Fall and in the years after...How many have to croak before y'all consider it game over? Lilah: All.

the saddest thing about being the only one left to tell a story is everybody who cares to listen is gone.

Gran Gran recalled the bloodstained dress she had taken off the girl. It was made of blue silk muslin and finely embroidered, stitched by somebody who knew what they were doing. She hated having to toss the ruined garment into the stove. The smell had sickened her. Since she was a girl, she had never forgotten the odor of beautiful things set afire. Such a waste!