Quotes About Loss

My - both my sisters died with pancreatic cancer. My brother died with pancreatic cancer. My daddy died of pancreatic cancer. My mother died with breast cancer.

Certain days I think definitely because we went in there and we got Saddam and that was our mission. On other days, we lost so many lives and so many brothers and sisters... on that aspect, no.

When my mother died, it sort of put a damper on things. My career didn't have the same significance or excitement. It had always been about doing well for my family - my brothers, sisters, father, mother. Then something interesting and important happened - I started doing things for me.

My father came by himself across the North Korean border when he was seventeen. And hasn't seen his brothers or sisters or parents since then. And he died some time ago, but never saw any of his relatives. My mother was a refugee in war-torn Korea.

My mother passed away when I was seven. She had a piano in the house that she was teaching my sisters how to play. That was where I first encountered music, through her.

I have 10 brothers and sisters. My mother raised us because my father died when I was 8.

During Partition, my parents, my brother and sisters were killed before my eyes.

Everything that scared me is losing people I love, and everyone that I really love, as it relates to females, I've lost. So what it's made me be is the animal that I am because I don't want to sit down and think about the things that are hurting me, but, you know.

I've been at the funerals of a lot of people in my neighborhood. Sometimes when I sit back and relax, I think about that and just blank out.

Emotions get in the way but they don't pay me to start crying at the loss of 269 lives. They pay me to put some perspective on the situation.

The estimated loss of up to six million dead is founded too much on both emotional, biased testimonies and on exaggerated data in the postwar reckonings of war crimes and on the squaring of accounts with the defeated.

I don't really remember the day we lost our home in the floods, but looking back I can understand how devastating it was for my parents. I was only six, so I remember us having to move to Adelaide - but not much of the actual day and night of the flood. We had to start all over again and my parents opened a cafe.

In sixth grade, my basketball team made it to the league championships. In double overtime, with three seconds left, I rebounded the ball and passed it - to the wrong team! They scored at the buzzer and we lost the game. To this day, I still have nightmares!

The interesting thing about grief, I think, is that it is its own size. It is not the size of you. It is its own size. And grief comes to you.

Right when I was lying on the ground and saw my legs, I didn't think first, 'I'm going to die.' I was thinking, 'I'm not going to run again. I can't play basketball. I'm not going to skate.'

In 2001, the hard disk on my laptop crashed, and everything on it was lost. I'd been using the computer for two, almost three years, and had all my work on it - email, which was stored locally; photos; fragments of poems; presentations; sketches; ideas; love letters; everything. I lamented the loss to my friends and got lectured on doing backups.

It's extremely important for my sit ski to be perfectly fit to me. If it's too big, and I shift around, the energy and strength I put into propelling myself forward will be lost. The right fit is everything in my sport.

Like many men, I am highly skilled in the art of losing things but prefer to outsource the recovery process.

With each step my heart broke for the person I would never find, the person who'd love me.

You have no idea how hard it is to grieve and fall madly in love at the same time.

Commitment means losing yourself to gain something temporary. Nothing lasts. Not looks. Not love.

The love of her life dissolved into dreams.

... I have no letter from the dead, yet daily love them more.

In loving life you love what can't survive.