Quotes About Loss

To cheat oneself out of love is the most terrible deception; it is an eternal loss for which there is no reparation, either in time or in eternity.

If we deny the thirst of love, we stand to lose the last known address of the stranger whithin us.

Her first week as a girl wearing black came and went and she knew she was doing a terrible job at it. But she didn't care. How could she focus on the inanities of life as a Thorndike student when she knew that Melissa Mayhew had tortured and killed her father?

The More Important Your Cheese Is To You The More You Want To Hold On To It.

When you're talking about the idea of loving your ex, and being able to hold on to that amidst all the other feelings of being heartbroken or sad or missing something that's gone --something dies when a relationship ends. It is a death because that thing that was the two of you together was alive and now it won't be and the only two people who really knew that thing was alive are the two of you. No one else knows.

This Truth has to be realized here and now, in this lifetime. Do not postpone it until the next lifetime. If you do not know it this lifetime, it is the greatest loss. There cannot be any greater loss than this. This is the greatest loss imaginable.

Being over seventy is like being engaged in a war. All our friends are going or gone and we survive amongst the dead and the dying as on a battlefield.

Better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.

Thus, though it is not every creature that can be blessed (for beasts, trees, stones, and things of that kind have not this capacity), yet that creature which has the capacity cannot be blessed of itself, since it is created out of nothing, but only by Him by whom it has been created. For it is blessed by the possession of that whose loss makes it miserable. He, then, who is blessed not in another, but in himself, cannot be miserable, because he cannot lose himself.

And yet there succeeded, not indeed other griefs, yet the causes of other griefs. For whence had that former grief so easily reached my very inmost soul, but that I had poured out my soul upon the dust, in loving one that must die, as if he would never die?

For evil has no positive nature; but the loss of good has received the name "evil."

And therefore perchance I feared to die, lest he whom I had much loved should die wholly.

There is no spot on earth that is free from loss. On this street, or in this room, someone lay down or was put down and was no more. Someone held someone else for the last time here. Rivers and lakes and oceans are full of people who vanished beneath the surface and were never seen again. Wherever you are standing, wherever you call home, someone left the earth there. Everyone we love dies and disappears.

I felt myself being invaded through and through, I crumbled, disintegrated, and only emptiness remained.

War would end if the dead could return.

Love, too, a leveler, a dying all its own, the parts left behind not to be replaced, a loss ongoing, and every day increased, like rising in the night, at 3:00 am, to watch the snow or the dead leaf fall, the rings around the streetlight in the rain, and then the rain, the red fist in the heart opening and closing almost without me. —Stanley Plumly, from "Variation on a Line from Elizabeth Bishop's 'Five Flights Up'," Poetry(June 2015)

On both sides in 1915 there would be more dead on any single day than yards gained in the entire year. And there would be nearly four more years of attrition—not to determine who was right, but who was left.

Am I lonelier now Than when my sad imagination Had him disappear? Heart torn, Loosing tiny droplets Of sorrow No tape can measure No needle can mend.

Dare I tell them that since I came here to dance I have been giving pieces of my body away To ridiculous diets, To repeated injuries, To Remington? And that maybe I think With each bit of my body I lose a little piece of my soul

Ludwik Szatera was a passionate lover of nostalgia. He could never come to terms with the eternal passage of men, objects and events. Each moment inexorably turning into the past was to him precious, invaluable, and he witnessed its passing with a sense of inexpressible regret.

Her head and heart had been empty for so long, the world drained of meaning. Her favorite dishes tasted like ash, paintings that had once taken her breath away, were hollow scrolls. Music that had once lifted her soul, jangled like a distant cacophony

On the day I lost my passport I discovered, at the age of fifty-eight, that losing one's native land implies more than parting with a circumscribed area of soil.

But since those days in Vienna I had been aware that Austria was lost, not yet suspecting, to be sure, how much I had lost thereby.

My child died last night—and now I shall be alone again, if I must really go on living. They will come tomorrow, strange, hulking, black-clad men bringing a coffin, and they will put him in it, my poor boy, my only child.