Quotes About Loss

Maybe it was loss or love or some other word hat we say when it's too fucking late.

Or our whole country, which you never think of until it's gone, which you never love until you're no longer there.

Instead of lowering your head and copping to it like a man, you pick up the journal as one might hold a baby's beshatted diaper, as one might pinch a recently benutted condom. You glance at the offending passages. Then you look at her and smile a smile your dissembling face will remember until the day you die. Baby, you say, baby, this is part of my novel. This is how you lose her.

She was the kind of girlfriend God gives you young, so you'll know loss the rest of your life

After love is lost only thing left to flirt with are the facts.

The heart, once broken, stayed broken.

Just ten minutes, but everything was different now. He was different, the world was different. His father was nowhere in it. And with that, tears came to his eyes.

What is left when there is no love? A rope and rock.

Nothing lasts forever." "Some things do." "What kind of things?" "The things we like to remember. The love we've felt for people.

so sad she couldn't even cry.

Grief was a place, Sara understood, where a person went alone.

There were times when you couldn't fix what was broken with words, and this looked like one of those times.

It was as if I'd lost some cosmic game of musical chairs; the song had stopped, I was left standing, and there was simply nothing to be dine about it.

We are born faithful and afraid, when it should be the opposite; it is life that teaches us how much we stand to lose.

No, there was no such thing as a good death.

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That Time will come and take my love away.

An unanticipated longing washed over him; how he wished his father were here. For weeks he had kept this feeling at bay. Holding his son in his arms, he could no longer. Tears poured from his eyes.

How ironic! We are born faithful and afraid, when it should be the opposite; it is life that teaches us how much we stand to lose.

How surprising death was, how irrevocable and complete, how much itself.

She did not recall the words, only the idea: that loss was love's accounting, its unit of measure, as a foot was made of inches, a yard was made of feet.

The day-to-day. That was the term they used. Thinking neither of a past that was too much a story of loss and death, nor of a future that might never happen.

She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I cannot remember. Maybe I loved her, Maybe I didn't. There was a house, and then no house. There were trees, but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything. -Mark Strand, "In the Afterlife

Life wrests that feeling from us. Day by day, the sublime glimpses of childhood pass away. It is love, of course, and only love, that restores us to ourselves, or so we hope, but that is taken away. What is left when there is no love?

If asked to name the worst moment of his life, Michael Fisher wouldn't have hesitated to give his answer: it was when the lights went out.