Quotes About Loss

And how could she ever open her mouth to tell him, in the guise of reminiscing, I haven't been on a ferry in twelve years. Once upon a time I was a girl and my name was Dottie and I was seventeen and in love and I was real. I had a life that I loved and it was beautiful and the boy was beautiful and here I am again but once was enough, once is all you get to ask for, once is about all I can survive.

You lost a close election," Graham

You don't become an 'artist' unless you've got something missing somewhere. Blaise Pascal called it a God-shaped hole. Everyone's got one but some are blacker and wider than others. It's a feeling of being abandoned,cut adrift in space and time-sometimes following the loss of a loved one. You can never completely fill that hole-you can try with songs,family,faith and by living a full life...but when things are silent, you can still hear the hissing of what's missing.

La candente mañana de febrero en que Beatriz Viterbo murió, después de una imperiosa agonía que no se rebajó un solo instante ni al sentimentalismo ni al miedo, noté que las carteleras de fierro de la Plaza Constitución habían renovado no sé qué aviso de cigarrillos rubios; el hecho me dolió, pues comprendí que el incesante y vasto universo ya se apartaba de ella y que ese cambio era el primero de una serie infinita.

Ce que j'ai perdu en illusions, je l'ai gagné en tendresse.

You and I are like the first two people on earth who at the beginning of the world had nothing to cover themselves with - at the end of it, you and I are just as stripped and homeless. And you and I are the last remembrance of all that immeasurable greatness which has been created in all the thousands of years between their time and ours, and it is in memory of all that vanished splendour that we live and love and weep and cling to one another.

The last moments slipped by, one by one, irretrievable.

You vanished, leaving me alone, Without a trace or explanation. When many years had passed me by, Your voice awakened me by chance. I sat and read Your Word all night And came to life out of a trance. Since then I feel more drawn to people, To blend into the morning crowd.

One day Larisa Fyodorovna left the house and did not come back again. Evidently she was arrested on the street in those days or died or vanished no one knew where, forgotten under some nameless number on subsequently lost lists, in one of the countless general or women's concentration camps in the north.

It's so damn easy to judge. But as Paolo knows from his niece, no matter how much you want someone back in your life, sometimes it's the letting-them-back-in part that hurts the most

When you lose a parent, you're an orphan. When you lose a husband, you're a widow. But as Zig had learned fourteen years ago, when you lose a child, they don't have a name for that.

Throughout the long four years of the Civil War, more Americans will die than in any other war in the nation's history—in fact, more Americans will die in the Civil War than in every other war combined from the American Revolution through the Korean War, including both World Wars. On average, nearly 3,500 lives are lost every week

A death in the family will teach you that people are capable of saying the damnedest things.

Pocas cosas se te clavan tan adentro como las lágrimas de un padre.

He knows that for all the undeserved bounty of his life, she will always be there, at the edge of his vision, to remind him of all the things he can never have.

When she's next to him, when she rests her hand on his, his whole body aches with something like knowledge for all he has lost, the chances he will never have, to return such a touch, to fall of a horse or eat chinese food or shoot a crossbow (which has always been one of his most dear wishes), to receive a letter in the mail, to be kissed with longing or punched in the jaw.

And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died, a gallant gentleman.

May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?

Friend John, it does rejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no more to be worried with our terrible things. Though we shall much miss her help, it is better so.

Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall

As a sad, grey dawn broke over the hillside he came upon a ruined cottage [named Broken-Heart Farm] which did not so much seem to have broken its heart, as its neck.

He wished he had never come to London. He wished he had never undertaken to revive English magic. He wished he had stayed at Hurtfew Abbey, reading and doing magic for his own pleasure. None of it, he thought, was worth the loss of forty books.

And in the end, I lost him. I did it on purpose, the way Garance lost Baptiste in the crowd. I needed to be alone, I felt. I wanted to be going on alone to my future.

In a strange way we were free. We'd reached the end of the line. We had nothing more to lose.