Quotes About Loss

Friends die, friends become demented, friends quarrel, friends drift with old age into silence.

The losses of the natural world are our loss, their silence silences something within the human mind.

Having a miscarriage would hurt if I went through it in silence and it would hurt if I lose the pregnancy in front of everybody, I realized.

Serious loss brings you into one of the world's silent fraternities.

He didn't even have the satisfaction of being killed for civil rights. it had to be some silly little Communist.

So I all knew was you lost your limbs and you died from it. I was scared silly.

Microchimeric sharing means that, even if the mother loses a child, she'll have a small memento of him or her secreted away inside her. Similarly, a bit of our mothers live on in all of us no matter how long ago Mom died.

My Tarkovsky idolatry was at its peak, but 'Nostalghia' really didn't do anything for me. 'The Sacrifice' was similarly disappointing for me. Next thing we knew, he was dead.

I talk to Simon, I write to him. I never used to write a diary. But now I'm writing a diary to him. I think it's not just me, but lots of others, family and friends, can still feel him around.

Lost dollars are simply harder to replace than gained dollars are to lose.

The rancor I once bore recedes, supplanted by admiration and a sense even of loss at the mates we might have been and the times we might have shared.

Do not tell me death is real. It is not. I have sustained my heart for ages with the love my brother passed on to me, dead as he was.

Grief breaks down all but the crazy; it's a secret of your profession, one people don't want to know.

The single dinner plate, the silent house, the tumbler in the sink--this was how it would be if he lost her. His mother had gone quickly, from liver cancer, the mass discovered too late. He thought of his father alone in his condo, crossing off days on the calendar like a prisoner. He'd survived her by thirteen years, yet every time Henry saw him, he quoted her as if they'd just spoken. Henry could picture himself doing the same to the children. He already lived too much in his memory.

If all of this has taught you anything, it's that hope is easier to get rid of than sorrow.

You want to tell him about the conversations they have, the arguments over things long forgotten. You want to impress on him how many stories everyone has within them, how much each death diminishes Friendship, especially with the young people leaving. But again, he's done enough. And he's young, you don't expect him to understand.

The day I sat down to write this chapter, The New York Times broke the story that Donald Trump for over a decade had managed to lose more money than any other American and, in some years, twice as much as any other American.

The fortunate among us realize early that loss is the key in which much of life is played.

I think Mark's death was

Sono morto come è morta lei, ma non so ancora perchè d'improvviso lei abbia voluto morire se lei viveva così bene, per questo mentre morivo non riuscivo a chiudere gli occhi, il vecchio Tang me li ha sfregati con forza come se stesse affilando un coltello, ma non c'è riuscito nemmeno lui a chiuderli. Dicono che tutti quelli che muoiono ingiustamente tengono gli occhi spalancati per poter continuare ad occuparsi dei loro cari.

Perhaps when we're forced to forfeit what we own, we lose any sentimental associations. Perhaps pawning our valuables frees us in the same way a house fire destroys not only our worldly goods, but our attachment to what's gone.

Death is insulting, and I resented its sudden appearance, like an unannounced visit from a boorish relative.

Some people die accidentally. It's a fact.

and that touched off something else...old sorrows, good friends gone down into the earth. Sometimes I picture death as a wide stone stair-case, filled with a silent procession of those being led away.