Quotes About Loss

And, although you think the memory of the battle won will be a pleasure—if it is a pleasure, you've lost the war.

Love is funny. Even though you don't have that person anymore, you still have the feeling. You didn't lose your love. You lost the tangible, tactile, sense-sational ability to experience the person or animal you lost. Grief is all about not being able to touch anymore. Not being able to use your senses to experience them on a physical level. They've moved beyond an impenetrable veil, beyond your hands and mouth and eyes.

I'd have given him a gift, only to snatch it away again, and counter to mainstream cliché, for some of us it's kinder to never have a thing at all than to have it and lose it. Some of us love too hard. Some of us don't seem to be able to hold that vital piece of ourselves back.

You doona hate me for not being able to return you?" He paused for emphasis. "Ever, Gwen. I can't return you ever.

Reflecting on something that hurts you only prolongs your pain, and when death is involved, the pain is often compounded by a relentless sense of guilt that attacks the moment you start to heal, as if duration of grief somehow proves the depth of your love for the person you lost.

He loved. He could lose.

You can fall in love again; most people do—but you can never replace a sister.

Death's an insult.

In the Deep South, we understand pride. We lost everything once, but by God, we held on to our pride. We heaped fuel onto the fire of it, stoked it as high as a crematorium. And we immolate ourselves on it sometimes.

You lose someone you love more than you love yourself, and you get a crash course in mortality. You lie awake night after night, wondering if you really believe in heaven and hell and finding all kinds of reasons to cling to faith, because you can't bear to believe they aren't out there somewhere, a few whispered words of a prayer away.

Death is not a Hunter's delight. Too final.

felt that way about myself lately; turning dark and afraid of what I was becoming. At that moment, I had no idea how light I still was. But then we so rarely understand the value of what we possess until it's gone.

I was hunting the monster that had killed my sister. I was the monster that had killed his brother.

You don't realize how reassuring it is to see yourself every day until you can't anymore.

Death is the final chapter in a book you can't unread. You keep waiting to feel like the person you were before that chapter ended. You never will.

I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever…

Grief still kicked me awake in the morning, kept me company all day, and crawled into bed with me at night.

I wasn't prepared for death. Nobody is. You lose someone you love more than you love yourself, and you get a crash course in mortality. You lie awake night after night, wondering if you really believe in heaven and hell and finding all kinds of reasons to cling to faith, because you can't bear to believe they aren't out there somewhere, a few whispered words of a prayer away.

Hawk couldn't find Adam. He couldn't find Grimm. And now he couldn't find his own wife. What the hell kind of wedding day was this?

My world began falling apart with the death of my sister, and hasn't stopped since. And it's not just my world that's in trouble; it's your world, too.

Ölürken, geçiÅŸ s?ras?nda, bir an var. YaÅŸam yerini ölüme, dolu yerini boÅŸa b?rak?yor. Bir an. Her ÅŸey çok h?zl?. Geri dön, geri dön, diye ba??rmak istiyorum. Bir dakikaya daha ihtiyac?m var. Bir gülümsemeye daha. Her ÅŸeyi düzeltmek için bir ÅŸansa daha. Ama gitti. Yok art?k. Nereye gitti? Hayata ölümden sonra ne oluyor? Bir yere mi gidiyor, yoksa tamamen mi kayboluyor?

What no one tells you is that when someone you love dies, you lose them twice. Once to death, the second time to acceptance, and you don't walk that long, dark passage between the two alone. Grief takes every shuffling, unwilling step with you, offering a seductive bouquet of memories that can only blossom south of sanity. You can stay there, nose buried in the petals of the past. But you're never really alive again. Spend enough time with ghosts, you become one.

Killed time is an abortion, life that never gets lived, gone, just gone.

Some people—who haven't lost someone they love unconditionally and more than themselves—think a year is plenty of time to get over the trauma of their death and you should have fully moved on. Fuck you, it's not.