Quotes About Loss

Like flowers scattered in a storm, a man's life is a long farewell.

You tell me there is no fighting or hatred or desire in the Town. That is a beautiful dream, and I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without despair or loss, there is no hope.

En ese momento, por fin lo captó. En lo más profundo de sí mismo,Tsukuru Tazaki lo comprendió: los corazones humanos no se unen sólo mediante la armonía. Se unen, mas bien, herida con herida. Dolor con dolor. Fragilidad con fragilidad. No existe silencio sin un grito desgarrador, no existe perdón sin que se derrame sangre, no existe aceptación sin pasar por un intenso sentimiento de pérdida. Ésos son los cimientos de la verdadera armonía.

One day, I lost sight of her. I happened to glance away for a moment, and when I turned back, she had disappeared.

Maybe in some distant place, everything is already, quietly, lost. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear, melting together in a single overlapping figure. And as we live our lives we discover—drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each—what has been lost.

There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage of acute loss.

It's not just that I'm dumb. Nakata's empty inside. I finally understand that. Nakata's like a library without a single book. It wasn't always like that. I used to have books inside me. For a long time I couldn't remember, but now I can. I used to be normal, just like everybody else. But something happened and I ended up like a container with nothing inside.

Here's what hurts the most, Kafuku said. I didn't truly understand her--or at least some crucial part of her. And it may well end that way now that she's dead and gone. Like a small, locked safe lying at the bottom of the ocean. It hurts a lot. Tatsuki thought for a moment before speaking. But Mr. Kafuku, can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?

Like flowers scattered in a storm, man's life is one long farewell

Each day the sun would rise and set, the flag would be raised and lowered. Each Sunday I would have a date with my dead friend's girl. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was going to do.

I'm all through as a human being," she said. "All you're looking at is the lingering memory of what I used to be. The most important part of me, what used to be inside, died years ago, and I'm just functioning by rote memory.

But even though I was with my father again, I never felt really secure deep down. I don't know how to put it exactly, but things were never really settled inside me. I always had this feeling like, I don't know, like somebody was putting something over on me, like my real father had disappeared forever and, to fill the gap, some other guy was sent to me in his shape.

They put up with such strenuous training, and where did their thoughts, their hopes and dreams, disappear to? When people pass away, do their thoughts just vanish?

The things we try our hardest not to lose, we really just put deep abysses in the spaces between them.

Ella ya sólo existe en mis recuerdos. Se ha ido de mi lado. Estaba aquí, pero ha desaparecido. Y allí no hay término medio. Donde no hay lugar para el compromiso no puede haber un término medio. Los quizá tal vez existan al sur de la frontera. No al oeste del sol.

From the photo albums, every single print of her had been peeled away. Shots of the both of us together had been cut, the parts with her neatly trimmed away, leaving my image behind. Photos of me alone or of mountains and rivers and deer and cats were left intact. Three albums rendered into a revised past. It was as if I'd been alone at birth, alone all my days, and would continue alone.

She gave me this look – she might have been watching from a lifeboat as the ship went down. Or maybe it was the other way around.

We all die and disappear, but that's because the mechanism of the world itself is built on destruction and loss.

Everyone of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories.

The death of a dream can be, in a way, sadder than that of a living being. Sometimes it all seems so unfair.

It's a terrible thing when a person dies, whatever the circumstances. A hole opens up in the world, and we need to pay the proper respects. If we don't, the hole will never be filled in again.

When people pass away, do their thoughts just vanish?

People naturally pay their respects to the dead. The person had, after all, just accomplished the personal, profound feat of dying.

So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us--that's snatched right out of our hands--even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence.