Quotes About Loss

After Goldenflower had padded away, Fireheart stepped forward and leaned down to lick Runningwind's dull pelt. "I will avenge your death," he promised softly. As he backed away, he saw a figure step forward from

Not that you asked," she meowed evenly, "but with time to reflect on what happened in the Great Battle, and everything that happened with Darktail and the cats we lost . . . I no longer deny that StarClan exists.

know that the pain is fresh and strong in this moment, but when you return to Bella and your litter, you should remember this day—not as the day you lost a pup, but the day you were given two.

Ashfur was alive, and he'd taken Squirrelflight to a place where only the dead could reach her.

The Twolegs had stolen Cloudpaw!

I knew it really," she mewed. "It's just that sometimes I dream about being in the forest, hunting with Brackenpaw, and then I wake up and the pain in my leg reminds me I'll never hunt again. It feels too much to bear. I have to pretend that maybe, one day, I'll be able to hunt.

Feathertail

No!" Speckletail threw her head back and let out a yowl of pure desperation. "My kit! Oh, my kit!

Jaypaw swallowed hard, almost ready to start wailing like a kit that had lost its mother.

I would like to stand again in the place where Feathertail lies.

A child's death isn't always necessary for a mother to grieve.

I couldn't stand here, hanging on, when the very thing I held disappeared more with each passing day.

What good is a body if I can't have you?

love is a poverty you couldn't sell

If you can't be a bad poet at seventeen, with your brother dying just down the corridor, what hope is there for poetry?

To eat these foods again in the new country was a way of holding on to the grandmothers and mothers who had first cooked with them. Often, however, the remembering through food is bittersweet, because even when you have tracked down every last herb and spice, the missing ingredient is the cook. You find you don't want pasta 'just like Mama used to make'; you actually want Mama herself.

Often, however, the remembering through food is bittersweet, because even when you have tracked down every last herb and spice, the missing ingredient is the cook. You find you don't want pasta "just like mama used to make"; you actually want mama herself.

Force-feeding is a crime of passion, driven by a parent's desire to see a child eat; as with other crimes of passion, the perpetrator has lost sight of the loved one's autonomy.

We go to the grave of a friend, saying, "A man is dead;" but angels throng about him, saying, "A man is born."

Your fingers smell of incense—a lover sings to the corpse of his dead sweetheart.

Your blouse is whitening on the chair and your parrot Flaubert weeps in French: she left him, and he is sorry.

When her mother saw Andrea, she took her hand in hers and sobbed: "We're orphans now!" It struck Andrea as false, somehow—the tear-stained face, the trite words.

Death, the final, triumphant lover.

Grief is beautiful?' She thought it was the most dreadful feeling possible. At best she viewed the world through a haze, and at worst everything looked black. 'It means you've loved another with all your heart,' Luka said. 'What's the use of being alive if you've never loved like that, not even once?