Quotes About Loss

After 'Orange' wrapped and my character wrapped, I felt like I went through a bit of a mourning period.

The CIA created, armed and financed the Contras. My father backed them with everything he had. It was my father's war, and almost everyone in Nicaragua has lost somebody as a result of it. I couldn't go down there, being his daughter, and expect not to feel those people's wrath.

It's harder to be angry at home when we lose. When it was just me and the missus, she didn't mind. She'd take the wrath of the loss! But it's harder when there's a little baby now.

My father passed away after three years of debilitating disease, which transformed a very strong and bright man into a real wreck. And that is hard. You have to get out of that stronger, if you can, which I was lucky to be able to. I was the eldest of the family, and I had to support my mother and help my brothers.

I hate this quality, but I can go to dark levels when we lose. It's not a panic attack, but there's anxiety. I'm inconsolable. I'm a train wreck. I'm being myself. Then I get this crazy, intense focus, where I get desperate not to be embarrassed again. That dark spot is what I tap into. Creativity comes from there.

I had a sister who was killed in a motorcycle wreck when I was around 4 years old. My parents adopted her son, and so my nephew became my brother. He was three years older than me, so through him, I was exposed to hip-hop.

I lost my brother in a car wreck when I was 14 years old. When I decided I wanted to be a country singer, my dad always told me, 'Son, you should write a song about your brother.'

In 1874, Mary Fraser accompanied her husband Hugh to Hong Kong, arriving hours after a typhoon had wrecked the island. Some 10,000 boat families had drowned in the harbour. There was no way to avoid the bloated bodies, and when Mary disembarked, she felt her foot land on something soft.

I had, back in March of 92, Wrestlemania 8, just after that is when I had a major confrontation at home and very nearly lost my family and I wrote a book about it.

My father died when I was 15, and my dad was a professional wrestler but as well as a national amateur champion at the University of Nebraska.

I don't have many particular beliefs, but I do believe in people who we've lost. I'll speak to Owen Hart; he was a big influence on me as a young wrestler, and when he passed, I felt a great sense of loss. Ever since then, I just talk to Owen Hart before every match, and I ask him to be with me and make sure I don't get hurt.

I don't know if me and my dad have necessarily touched on this because we talk about Reid but not a lot. But me wrestling, I think, ultimately saved my dad's career and not only saved my life but definitely put a whole other chapter that no one saw coming because it could've been rock bottom after my brother passed away.

I'm having a really hard time with this retirement thing and not having wrestling.

It would be a huge loss to the wrestling industry and for those of us that have made our living in this industry to lose someone like Ric Flair.

In 'The Third Hotel,' my narrator, Claire, is wrestling with this sense of perpetual unfinishedness. She's trying to make sense of her husband's death, how someone's life can just stop and not continue, and of the lack of resolution in her own inner life.

Everything I knew my entire life - like, literally, for 26 years - all I had known was pro wrestling, and for it to be ripped away from me, which is nobody's fault, but it is part of our business.

It's hard to explain, but it's a beautiful thing to watch in wrestling when someone loses in the exact perfect way.

No-one can replace Richard Wright - he was my musical partner and my friend.

When you're 50 you start thinking about things you haven't thought about before. I used to think getting old was about vanity - but actually it's about losing people you love. Getting wrinkles is trivial.

I have angel wings and a halo on my wrist, which I got done on my 30th birthday in memory of my brother.

If India hadn't become a troubled space for me, somehow I wouldn't have any reason to write about it. So the fact that it's a lost love, or something, is why I keep thinking about it obsessively.

If you're going to write about war, which my books are about, wars are nasty things. I think it's sort of a cheap, easy way out to write a war story in which no one ultimately dies.

I was carrying my friend in his casket to put him in the hearse, and I was thinking, 'I need to write a song for this guy, because he always told me I would have a No. 1 song.'

The last thing in the world I want to do is write something in memory of Walter Mischel. I still can't quite accept that he's gone. And so I procrastinate, and with every day I don't put pen to paper, I reinforce his life's work with my reluctance.