Quotes About Loss

And beneath the chaos of the moment, Denise becomes aware of a painful truth about herself: she is never as deeply in love with a man as she is in the moment he leaves her.

She holds on to a rung of the ladder while I tread water a foot or so in front of her. After a few moments, my eyes have adjusted to that I can look into hers. I flash back to Horry and Wendy, looking at each other in this exact spot a few hours ago, this haunted pool that seems to pull dead and buried love to its surface.

I lost something after Hailey died. I'm not sure what to call it, but it's the device that stops ypu from telling the truth when people ask you how you're doing, that vital valve that keeps you deeper, truer emotions under lock and key. I don't know exactly when I lost it, or how to get it back, but for now when it comes to tact, civility, and discretion, I'm an accident waiting to happen, over and over again. Socially, that makes me something of a liability.

You never know when it will be the last time you'll see your father, or kiss your wife, or play with your little brother, but there's always a last time. If you could remember every last time, you'd never stop grieving.

The life you build feels like the entire world, and when it's suddenly gone, the world doesn't make sense for a while. Or, in his case, ever again.

he'd continue to cry passionately, long after he'd forgotten why he was crying to begin with.

Forgiveness is a comfort, but it doesn't bring back what you lost

It wasn't that she didn't love me, I knew that she did, and that actually made it worse. If someone leaves you because they don't love you, it's a tough break, but as they say, life's a bitch, get a helmet. But if someone loves you and leaves you anyway, you enter a whole new realm of self-doubt and recrimination, what psychologists call the what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-me syndrome.

If you could remember every last time, you'd never stop grieving.

My father? I never knew him. Never even seen a picture of him.

But you lied again. Now you get to watch her leave out the window. Guess that's why they call it 'window pane.

People move around so much in the world, things get lost.

To meet so briefly, then to lose you to the desert!' Rising swiftly, she walked to the doors opening to a veranda where she stood gazing at something beyond his vision. 'I hate it. I fear it. It is like the ocean. It takes men and devours them, then flows onward as if they had never been.

Of course he freaked me out. Of course it's nothing to do with me. But none of that matters. He loved me and now he doesn't. I was everything to him and now I am nothing.

He was only twenty-five.He was young enough to miss his youth just as it was slipping away. The worst kind of loss-the one that is happening as you feel it.

Now that he's gone, I feel like I'm a senior citizen who gave away her life savings over the phone. And this is the crux: I never in my life believed in someone as much as I believed in him. The shame is overwhelming.

He was addicted to me and now he has gone cold turkey. He used to send me fifty texts a day. And now he is ignoring me. It's like I was once his Barack Obama. And now I am John McCain, conceding defeat like a sad-face sock puppet, knowing I have sold the best of myself. He, my electorate, not only does not want me, he actively feels pity.

It's only a heartache. It isn't a tragedy. A tragedy would be losing the father of my children to cancer. This I wrestle with the hardest. There are thirty-one flavors of pain, like Baskin Robbins in hell. Am I allowed to feel pain at a breakup? When there is so much other shit going on in this world? Love is extremely serious. I don't think this is trivial.

I have had lots of friends who've been affected by Aids and a very good friend of mine, Oscar Moore, died of Aids and I was with him in his last year quite a bit. And of course he was a man living in a very rich culture with a wealthy family who was able to afford health care.

I`ve realized that in all the great stories, even if there`s a happily-ever-after ending, there`s something sad.

Pensavo al mio romanzo, La settimana bianca. Romand mi aveva detto che quel libro raccontava esattamente la sua infanzia. Pensavo al grande vuoto bianco che si era scavato a poco a poco dentro di lui fino a lasciare soltanto un simulacro di uomo vestito di nero, un baratro da cui proveniva la corrente d'aria gelida che faceva rabbrividire il disegnatore.

no solamente la pérdida de los fallecidos, sino el duelo de la confianza, la vida entera gangrenada por la mentira.

We've all had that fear, that despair of losing someone, or this fierce desire because it's not reciprocated. The less reciprocation there is, the more desire we have.

When I look up and see a star, I know my mom is there. She's with me all the time. It's a powerful connection.