Quotes About Loss

Oh, Christ. Word stuff, paper stuff, and that's neither words nor paper in that goddam little coffin, that's my son, my kid, my little dirty gap-toothed boy with the torn britches and the scabs on his knees, and he wasn't ever intended to ride thunder and bridle lightning, no man is. Pulp heroes were all made of wood and they could do it, but Dan's human and soft and easily broken. He hasn't any business there, no man has.

Tell me, doc. Tell me. Why do they have wars?" I shook my head. Was there ever a good reason? To make the world safe for democracy? To stop the death camps? To free the slaves? Maybe. Those were better reasons than cheap oil. But up close, no matter what the reason, it was husbands and sons and brothers who never came home.

Why am I alive when so many others are dead?

You can dispose of evil," Abby added, "but you never can reclaim what it has done.

El fin de todo esto es trágico: el que hace muy poco se sabía con el poder en las manos, se encuentra de pronto inmóvil en una caja de madera; y los que lo rodean, conscientes de su inutilidad, le queman en un horno.

Strange, rapid, disconnected thoughts passed through his mind. 'Dead!' Then: 'They have killed him! . . .' And an absurd notion about immortality, the thought of which aroused a sense of unbearable grief.

The thought that there is no greater misfortune in the world than the loss of reason? Yes

The thought that there is no greater misfortune in the world than the loss of reason? Yes, yes, of course, that, too. But that - that's only a general thought. There's something else. What is it? An insult, that's what. Yes, yes, insulting words hurled right in his face by Homeless. And the trouble is not that they were insulting, but that there was truth in them.

Behind the Blue Division, the frost-bitten horses of Kozyr-Leshko's cavalry regiment crossed the bridge at a wolfish lope followed by a rumbling, bouncing field-kitchen . . . then it all disappeared as if it had never been. All that remained was the stiffening corpse of a Jew on the approach to the bridge, some trampled hay and horse-dung.

The thought that there is no greater misfortune in the world than the loss of reason?

I have observed that there always exists some strange relationship between the appearance of a man and his soul, as if with the loss of a limb, the soul lost one of its senses.

I realized that there was no point or sense in chasing after happiness that had perished.

What, without you is life eternal? what are my boundless realms infernal? Just empty words, a loud discord, a vast cathedral - with no lord!

Sorbi cupa vieÅ£ii. Dar când sorbi, Pe dalbele-i chenare, Din ochii-nchiÅŸi, din ochii orbi, Curg lacrimile-amare. Când de pe ochi, pe-al morÅ£ii prag Smulgi ultima n?fram?, Vezi c? ÅŸi ce Å£i-a fost mai drag Ca v?lul se destram? Åži c? în golu-i aurit Din cupa cea m?iastr? Doar visul nostru l-am sorbit - Ea, nu era a noastr?. (Lermontov - Cupa vieÅ£ii )

Yes, it's a well-known fact about you: you're like death, you take everything.

Which doesn't mean, of course, that I'd stopped loving her, that I'd forgotten her, or that her image had paled; on the contrary; in the form of a quiet nostalgia she remained constantly within me; I longed for her as one longs for something definitively lost.

When his wife was at his side, she was also in front of him, marking out the horizon of his life. Now the horizon is empty: the view has changed.

The termites of reduction have always gnawed away at life: even the greatest love ends up as a skeleton of feeble memories.

You are beautiful, he said, But I will have to leave you.

Through the air floated only important words, and Flajsman said to himself that love has but one true measure, and that is death. At the end of true love is death, and only the love that ends in death is love.

Tereza had gone back to sleep; he could not. He pictured her death. She was dead and having terrible nightmares; but because she was dead, he was unable to wake her from them. Yes, that is death: Tereza asleep, having terrible nightmares, and he unable to wake her.

los amores son como los imperios: cuando desaparece la idea sobre la cual han sido construidos, perecen ellos también.

A scarf from her dress works free and floats behind her the way memories float behind the dead.

Man knows he cannot embrace the universe with all it's sums and stars. But he finds it unbearable to be condemned to lose the second infinity as well, the one so close, so nearly within reach. Tamina lost the infinity of her love, I lost my father, we all lose whatever we do, because if it is perfection we are after, we must go to the heart of the matter, and we can never quite reach it.