Quotes About Loss

My ma says a rock lasts forever, but people don't, and that's what makes them more precious.

Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts.

I was sorry to lose it, and if you make me another one, I promise not to get taken captive by bandits and have to use it to save my life.

Hear the leaves applauding Hear the wind hurrahing Hear the surf guffawing The ways of old are dead The queen has lost her head

Today I keep thinking of all the people who have left and never returned — my brothers, Khan Tegus, our guards, this entire city. What a strange, dark world that swallows people whole.

It was my jewelry!" Briar shouted after his father because he'd forgotten to ask what was stolen.

Things are never lost to you; you are lost to them. If ever in need of a Thing that has lost you, simply stop hiding from it

They walked back through the village, and Miri kept her eyes on the ground before her. The whole world had shifted, and she was not sure she could keep her feet. She was her ma alive again. When Miri returned, she found Marda moved

I know I would crumble if I lost you.

The day I won an Emmy was also the day my father passed away. I received a call from my sister on the way to the ceremony and had to turn my car around and catch the first flight back to Karachi.

Daughter stealer.

Her grief for both of them was flavored with guilt the way salt flavors the sea; she could taste it in the tears.

Nadia," she says, very softly. I lean forward, straining to hear. Her expression has changed, drawn, as if in pain. "She's gone," she whispers. "The bed is empty." "Who, Mother?" "Nadia," she says again. "Her book is wrong. It's not Nadia's book." I know Mother. But it was only ever the book that was wrong. Not the daughter. Never the daughter.

I was wishing I was invisible. Outside, the leaves were falling to the ground, and I was infinitely sad, sad down to my bones. I was sad for Phoebe and her parents and Prudence and Mike, sad for the leaves that were dying, and sad for myself, for something I had lost.

It can't be dead. It was alive just a minute ago.

What do you know of sacrifice? Need I tell you of York's dead . . . of Sandal Castle? My brother did survive the battle, his first. He was seventeen and he entreated them to spare his life. They cut his throat. Their heads were then impaled on York's Micklegate Bar to please the House of Lancaster, to please a harlot and a madman. She had my father's head crowned with straw and she left a spike between the two. . . . That one, she said, was for York's other son.

Yesterday your heart was broken because they left you

In his gaze, rooms of the dead; halls of loss; fog- emerald; driven, dirty-rice snow: he was in there somewhere, I looked for him, and he gave me the gift, he let me in, knowing he would never once, in this world or in any other, have to do it again, and I saw him, not as he really was, I was still without the strength of anger, but I saw him see me, even now that dropping down into trust's affection in his gaze, and I held it, some seconds, quiet, and I said, Good-bye, and he said Good-bye

If I ever prayed, as a child, for everlasting union, these were its shoes: one dew-licked kicked-off slipper of a being now flying, one sunrise-milk-green boot of the dead, which I wore, as I dreamed.

and not to have lost him when he loved me, and not to have lost someone who could have loved me for life.

And so he went into another world—this world, where I do not see or hear him

And now I could hear the music think, as I had heard it then, the unspooling of the logic of being mortal—of dying, as my best friend had, when I was nine, and my beloved, when I was sixteen. I heard, again, what loving and being loved might sound like—or I heard what some comfort for the loss of that might sound like. I heard the body and soul of death—of love and death.

and farther into cold fog I let him go, I lay and stretched on love's fucking stretcher, and let him wander on his own the haunt salt mazes.

Maybe I'm half over who he was, but not who I thought he was, and not over the wound, sudden deathblow as if out of nowhere, though it came from the core of our life together.