Quotes About Loss

But in modern war you will die like a dog for no good reason.

The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.

You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.

Next day on returning I found him dead in the snow with his head on the sill of the door—the door of his puppyhood's days; my dog to the last in his heart of hearts—it was my help he sought, and vainly sought, in the hour of his bitter extremity.

Al perderte... Al perderte yo a ti Tu y yo hemos perdido: Yo por que tú eras Lo que yo más amaba Y tú por que yo era El que te amaba más. Pero de nosotros dos Tú pierdes más que yo: Porque yo podré amar a otros Como te amaba a ti, Pero a ti no te amarán Como te amaba yo.

Al perderte yo a tí tú y yo hemos perdido: yo porque tú eras lo que yo más amaba y tú porque yo era quien te amaba más. Pero de nosotros dos tú pierdes más que yo: porque yo podré amar a otras como te amaba a tí pero a tí no te amarán como te amaba yo.

T?m bi?t em, tình yêu duy nh?t c?a anh, ??ng run s? trÆ°á»›c b?y sói Ä'ói m?i CÅ©ng nhÆ° gi?a nh?ng th?o nguyên cô qu?nh; Anh luôn mang em theo trong tim mình Và chúng ta s? Ä'i cùng nhau cho ??n khi con ???ng bi?n m?t...

Dead men by mass production––in one country after another––month after month and year after year. Dead men in winter and dead men in summer. Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous. Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them. These are the things that you at home need not even try to understand.

Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous. Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them. Those are the things that you at home need not even try to understand. To you at home they are columns of figures, or he is a near one who went away and just didn't come back. You didn't see him lying so grotesque and pasty beside the gravel road in France. We saw him, saw him by the multiple thousands. That's the difference.

The most tragic form of loss isn't the loss of security; it's the loss of the capacity to imagine that things could be different.

His death brings new experience to my life - that of a wound that will not heal.

A hairdresser talking with the Doctoresse about the bombing: - "I'm not afraid of it. The dead are better off than we are." - "But you don't know that." - "Yes, I do. I'm sure of it because not a single one of them has ever returned.

Whenever I receive death announcements, I consistently notice that a kind of emotion grips me and I feel astonished disbelief. It is as though the departed had passed a difficult examination and achieved something I had not believed him capable of.

Todos vosotros conocéis la profunda melancolía que nos sobrecoge al recordar los tiempos felices. Esos tiempos que se han alejado para no volver más y de los cuales estamos más implacablemente separados que por cualquier distancia. Y las imágenes de la vida son más seductoras todavía vistas en el reflejo que nos dejan, y pensamos en ellas como en el cuerpo de una amada difunta que reposara bajo tierra y que de pronto se nos apareciera, como un luminoso espejismo...

What is the meaning of the immense silence that surrounds the dead?

There are eras of decline in which the form our inner life is destined to take becomes blurred. In these periods, we stagger this way and that like creatures who have lost their balance. We sink from hollow joys into dull sorrow, and a pervasive sense of loss lends the future and the past a more alluring air. And so we maunder through remote pasts or distant utopias while the present moment vanishes.

Voilà Dvora, je sens des abeilles dans mon sang, un ours dans mon cÅ"ur, chaque battement est une patte qui démolit la ruche. Elle me donne sa main et moi je sais que je ne la lui rendrai plus.

Strano sapersi perduti tutti i giorni e non dirsi mai addio

A man dies and his skin loses heat like the sand on a summer evening. It makes you feel like warming him up.

Il mio lutto per lui è una pozza d'acqua marina prosciugata. Tra gli scogli resta il sale asciutto, dei singhiozzi a secco.

death that tears away clumps of us folks, stuffs thousands of the living, freshly plucked into its sack.

Ti amo col timore di perderti e con il sentimento di farti sprecare il tuo valore accanto a me. [La faccia delle nuvole]

I love you because that piece that remains is worth the whole and I love you by exclusion of the other lost pieces.

It was in describing these early bargaining tactics by the British oil company that Dean Acheson, the U.S. secretary of state, made his famous statement: "Never had so few lost so much so stupidly in so short a time.