Quotes About Loss

Una volta Beverly ha letto un articolo di una rivista scientifica sulla bioluminescenza, il bagliore naturale emesso da organismi come le lucciole e le meduse, ma sa che anche i morti emanano una strana luce, un fosforo che può danneggiare in modo permanente gli occhi dei vivi. Necroluminescenza – la luce degli scomparsi. Un pensiero retrospettivo prodotto dal corpo del defunto. I tuoi fallimenti retroilluminati dalla morte dei tuoi cari.

Mr. Oamaru has taught me that loss isn't just limited to the present; it can happen in any direction. Even what's done and vanished can be taken from you. Other, earlier memories that we made of my father sink and revert to water

Her name in a stranger's mouth was a resurrection; however briefly, she was alive with him again again. Even that little shove could roll back the tomb.

She's dead. She's dead.

It is a special kind of homelessness, says our mayor, to be evicted from your dreams.

This new happiness had angles. Happiness like his was real; it had a jewel-cut shadow, and he could lose it.

It is a special kind of homelessness to be evicted from your dreams.

Any place, then, can become a cemetery. All it takes is your body. It's not fair, I think, and I get this petulant wish for ugly flowers and mourners, my mother's old familiar grief. Somebody I love to tend my future grave. Probably this is the wrong thing to be wishing for.

If you're short on time, that would be the two-word version of our story: we fell.

If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk back up to Heaven and bring you home again.

Sometimes I guess you need to lose everything before you realize what's really important.

Death and loss, they plague you. So do memories. Like the Mississippi's incessant slap against the levees, they creep up with deceptive sweetness before grabbing your heart and pulling it under.

Strong winds buffet the sea oats and tall dune grasses, tossing sand and seabirds where it will, winding my sister's golden hair into sunlit spirals of silk until it becomes the only good memory I have of her -- the only memory I allowed myself to keep.

It still amazed me sometimes when I caught sight of myself in a mirror. I would be startled to see the stranger there, as if still expecting to see my blond hair and tight skin, my hands with long, straight fingers. Age was a thief, an insidious one who instead of robbing you at night while you slept took all of your possessions one by one and forced you to watch.

Sometimes hope is all we have, and to lose that is to lose all.

She sobbed for the loss of her father, for his words of wisdom, for his constancy, and for the little girl at his knee she could never be again.

I reached for Helen's hand, and felt her squeeze back, accepting that I would understand more than most the missing part of the human heart rendered by the absence of a mother and father.

feelings of hurt and betrayal and utter loss poured through me like batter hitting a hot skillet.

But bad news came at night, as if the sun were already in mourning.

over the smooth lip of the china cup, I thought of how someone's loss had become my gain, of how the tide would roll in and out again as if nothing had changed, and how sometimes the separation between endings and beginnings is so

My childhood had been vanishing bit by bit while I'd been living in New York, trying to pretend it had never existed. Maybe that was what the old saying – that a person can never really go home again – was all about. You couldn't go home because even though home might still be there in brick and mortar, everything else would be unrecognizable.

Grief was like that, Ceecee had learned. It either opened your heart or closed it.

Ceecee told me to wait to get married, to be sure. Not about how much I loved him, but how much I could bear to lose.

The more we loved, the more we lost ourselves.