Quotes About Loss

My heart still full of her, Traveled over her face, and found her there no more... I thought to myself that a women unknown Had adopted by chance that voice and those eyes And I let the chilly statue pass Looking at the skies. Alfredde Musset

I wonder now… were my tears for Alex and Al and all the others who had gone and who were yet to go? Or was I weeping for myself…and those who would remain?

even as she says it, sees love drain out of his eyes: and somehow, as a stream, which seeks its own level, it flows over into hers, and her fate is sealed. The less he loves, the more she will.

I would have felt that I nailed his coffin. He was a wonderful person, Peter. A sweet man with a brilliant mind. In some ways he was much more attentive to me than Yitzchak. He would never do anything criminal, Peter. Just as you wouldn't. It's not in his makeup.

El más terrible de todos los sentimientos es el sentimiento de tener la esperanza muerta.

Pero yo ya no soy yo, ni mi casa es ya mi casa.

Like a snake, my heart has shed its skin. I hold it there in my hand, full of honey and wounds. The thoughts that nested in your folds, where are they now?...

La nostalgia terrible de una vida perdida, el fatal sentimiento de haber nacido tarde, o la ilusión inquieta de un mañana imposible con la inquietud cercana del dolor de la carne.

Era hermoso jinete, y ahora montón de nieve. Corrió ferias y montes y brazos de mujeres. Ahora, musgo de noche le corona la frente

Emilio, Enrique, Estaban los tres enterrados: Lorenzo en un seno de Flora; Emilio en la, yerta ginebra que se olvida en el vaso, Enrique en la hormiga, en el mar y en los ojos vacíos de los pájaros.

Yerma. «[…] ¿Qué queréis saber? No os acerquéis, porque he matado a mi hijo. ¡Yo misma he matado a mi hijo!".

Prima tuo padre, che odorava di garofano e non me lo sono goduta neanche tre anni. Poi tuo fratello. E ti pare giusto, è mai possibile che una cosa piccola come una pistola o un coltello possa finire un uomo che è un toro? Non smetterei mai di parlarne. Passano i mesi e la disperazione mi brucia gli occhi e su su fino alla punta dei capelli.

Yo no miré a nadie. Miré a tu padre y cuando lo mataron miré a la pared de enfrente.

Para ver que todo se ha ido dame to mudo hueco, ¡amor mío! Nostalgia de academia y cielo triste. ¡Para ver que todo se ha ido!

La Soleá" All in this world has broken. All that's left is silence. (Leave me in this field weeping.)

As I lose myself in the heart of certain children, I have lost myself in the sea many times. Ignorant of the water I go seeking a death full of light to consume me. — Federico García Lorca, from "Gacela De La Huida (Garcela Of The Flight)," The Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca . Trans. Stephen Spender and J. L. Gili. (New Directions; unknown edition May 17, 2005) Originally published December 3rd 1915.

Amor de mis entrañas, viva muerte, en vano espero tu palabra escrita y pienso, con la flor que se marchita, que si vivo sin mí quiero perderte.

Never let me lose the marvel of your statue-like eyes, or the accent the solitary rose of your breath places on my cheek at night. I am afraid of being, on this shore, a branchless trunk, and what I most regret is having no flower, pulp, or clay for the worm of my despair. If you are my hidden treasure, if you are my cross, my dampened pain, if I am a dog, and you alone my master, never let me lose what I have gained, and adorn the branches of your river with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

Death laid its eggs in the wound

I am the immense shadow of my tears

Pero yo ya no soy yo Ni mi casa es ya mi casa. But now I am no longer I, nor is my house any longer my house.

De lo que ya no existe se habla con indiferencia o con frialdad; pero yo hablo con dolor, porque hablo antes que deje de existir y sabiendo que dejará de existir. Recuérdese cómo lo afirmé.

Marena," he said with an effort, "Marena...." He did not recognize her. His voice failed.

No.. no questo tipo no, non è capace. Questo vuole prendere tutto, arraffare tutto, non sa rinunciare a niente; cambia strada ogni giorno perché ha paura di perdere quella giusta, e sta morendo, come dissanguato.