Quotes About Loss

When he woke, she was gone. He lay for a long while looking up at the tent roof, wondering how much he cared. He needed company, although he was never wholly comfortable with it; he needed a woman, although he was never wholly happy with one. He wanted to talk, although he knew most talk was an admission of non-communication.

Where did your long hair go?Where is the girl I used to know?How could you lose that happy glow?Oh Caroline, no.

We live in a world of fire and death and funerals.

It's so quiet. More than anything, the silence makes me feel what I've lost. The Earth is no longer ours.

My parents' marriage, begun with a pregnancy that produced a stillborn child, was itself stillborn—a union formed with expectation and promise that never delivered.

I had what, I wanted, it was with me, in the room, including the room itself. Was it possible that we hear that voice not when we want something else but when we're in danger of losing the things we already have?

If you're gonna leave, I wish you'd just leave. Why do you keep coming back if you're not going to stay? Because even when you're gone, you're never really gone... I won't get over it if you keep coming back. Losing you once was hard enough. And now you're here again and everything's coming back. I'm going to get screwed. And I can't do it again.

If the girl could only have spoken to the other boys and girls, the ones that had followed the golden-eyed boy before her, she would have known that there is always something left to lose.

Mama," Peter cried. She didn't look up. The door shut.

Krampus's voice trailed off, he glanced at Jesse. Jesse's head lay on his shoulder, his eyes closed; there came no sign of breath. "It appears I am talking to myself." Krampus crossed his arms atop his chest and grunted.

There is so precious little magic left in this world . . . so little. Why must your ambitions come at such a cost?

I am not Abitha. Abitha was murdered. I am the witch, and the witch cares not for your tears.

Abitha is dead, they killed her, all that is left is wrath and malice … my restless soul. Do you understand?

You killed my Booka," she hissed. "I loved my Booka.

Grief:" You don't get over it you just get through it you don't get by it because you can't get around it it doesn't "get better" it just gets different every day . . . grief puts on a new face.

a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.

Brook, you don't sound like yourself." My reply came out of my mouth before I could choose it. "I am not the person I was three weeks ago and I will never be that person again." Surprised by my own response, I relayed it to my therapist who was helping me work through issues surrounding my brother's death. "Of course you're not," she said. "And one of the best things you can do for yourself is to know that you are a different person now.

the grief associated with bereavement is one of the most profound of all human emotions—and one of the most lethal.

My father's death, my move, and my frightening and difficult delivery created a tremendous amount of stress, pain, and sadness for me. I was practically devastated beyond recovery.

From first to last the Army of the Potomac was unlucky. It fought for four years, and it took more killing, proportionately, than any army in American history, and its luck was always out; it did its level best and lost; when it won the victory was always clouded by a might-have-been, and when at last the triumph came at Appomattox there were so very, very many of its men who weren't there to see it.

The lives of the older Da Silvas were empty and sad. They mourned the Slave Trade as a lost Golden Age when their family was rich, famous and white. They were worn down by rheumatism and the burdens of polygamy.

To lose a passport was the least of one's worries. To lose a notebook was a catastrophe

Nothing you love is lost. Not really. Things, people—they always go away, sooner or later. You can't hold them, any more than you can hold moonlight. But if they've touched you, if they're inside you, then they're still yours. The only things you ever really have are the ones you hold inside your heart.

That sense of loss grew within the humans who had been left behind, left to live without unicorns. Even the ones who had never seen a unicorn, never heard of a unicorn, felt the passing of something sweet and wonderful. It was as if the air had surrendered a bit of its spice, the water a bit of its sparkle, the night a bit of its mystery.