Quotes About Loss

Dragostea noastra a fost invinsa de intonatii.

Hay mucha tristeza en este mundo, pero es difícil superar la que invade a una mujer cuando siente que el amor que le profesaban se marcha, oh, muy lentamente, no de la noche a la mañana, no, pero irremediablemente, como la arena del reloj de arena.

Eu o iubeam anapoda iar ea nu m? mai iubea de fel.

Aquellos a quienes debía amar, han muerto; han muerto los que hubieran podido amarme. Y no tengo tiempo ni fuerzas para intentar el viaje hacia aquellos que sobreviven, para redescubrirlos. No hay nada en mí, ni siquiera mi voz, mis ademanes ni mi risa, que no pertenezca al monstruo que he lanzado contra el mundo y a quien he dado mi nombre.

But where are the snows of yesteryear?

Song after Battle: As the young men went by I was looking for him. It surprises me anew That he has gone. It is something To which I cannot be reconciled. Owls hoot at me. Owls hoot at me. That is what I hear In my life. Wolves howl at me. Wolves howl at me. That is what I hear In my life. -American Indian Songs

Ye who have laid your love to rest, And wept above their lifeless clay, Know not the anguish of that breast, Whose lov'd are rudely torn away. Ye may not know how desolate, Are bosoms rudely forced to part, And how a dull and heavy weight, Will press the life-drops from the heart.

If someone throws aside their pride and begs with all their heart, and if they do so in vain, then they are never quite the same person afterwards. Something in them dies, and something else comes to life.

I want my chirfugging goose back!

Don't trust anybody over a hundred and fifty years old, particularly if they look thirty. Anybody who gets that old in Caverna loses something, and they don't get it back. They can't feel properly any more. They're hollow inside, and all they got left is a hunger – a hunger to feel. They're like . . . great big trap-lanterns, all blind gaping need, and thousands of teeth, with decades to come up with tricks and schemes.

I did not see your mother at the funeral,' she said, following the thought. 'She stopped coming to them after her own,' Paul answered simply.

Well, you will have to do. If you had died along with your mother, I would have taught the cat to read.

Lost: one bonnet, two clogs. Kept in spite of the odds: two thumbs, one life.

If someone throws aside their pride and begs with all their heart, and if they do so in vain, then they are never quite the same person afterwards. Something in them dies, and something else comes to life. Afterwards, it was as if some understanding of the world had sunk into Makepeace's soul like winter dew. She knew that she would never feel safe or loved as she had before. And she knew that she would never, ever beg that way again.

Worlds ended sometimes.

It was not the first time Faith had been alone with the dead of course. She had watched five younger brothers wane, felt the trusting pressure of their small hands in hers. And later, each time, she had done her part in keeping watch over the body for the wake. There always needed to be somebody watching over the newly dead, just in case they turned out not to be dead after all. It was best to know these things before anyone was actually buried.

Makepeace felt something in her chest wrench, and wondered if it was her heart breaking. She waited to see how that would feel. Perhaps hearts broke like eggs, and spilt, and stopped working. But all she felt was numb. 'Perhaps my heart already broke and never grew back.

She felt like an amputee, reaching out reflexively with an arm she no longer had.

How does it feel," whispered Faith, "to come back to your memories and find yourself missing and a dead person in your place? I would feel as if I were disappearing. I would wonder if my father wanted to remember me at all. Do you ever have nightmares where you wake up and find that there is nothing of you left, just a dead person sitting up and wearing somebody else's face?" She saw Paul flinch. She had touched a nerve, and that knowledge made her fiercely happy.

How does it feel, whispered Faith, to come back to your memories and find yourself missing and a dead person in your place?

The water had got into the seams and joints of the world and washed away the glue. Lives and little universes broke their banks, mingling and bubbling over and flowing out to join the river. Plastic tricycles with peeling sticker eyes, photograph albums, Bic pens, dish brushes, barrettes, uprooted tomato plants. Comics spun giddily, socks sulked against windowsills.

Before the war, everyone had their rung on the ladder, and they didn't look much below or above it. But now? Low and high died side by side in Flanders Fields, and looked much the same facedown in the mud.

In the eyes of other Anglo-Indians, he slid from grace when he married a Eurasian girl, who gave him four sons, one of whom died in the embrace of a bear.

Es posible amar y ser amado por un muerto? [pp. 258]