Quotes About Loss

Of the nearly two hundred men who had parted ways with Francisco Orellana's group, only eighty made it back to Quito. They had traveled, mostly on foot, more than two thousand miles, and literally everything they had started the expedition with—200 horses, 2,000 to 3,000 swine, 2,000 dogs, and more than 4,000 native bearers—was gone, dead and gone, along with the 120 of their companions who had perished en route.

My brother was a great favorite with everybody, and his death cast a gloom upon the whole neighborhood.

The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little more off you, until there was nothing left.

Gone?—gone? What means that little word?—What

whaling vessels are the most exposed to accidents of all kinds, and especially to the destruction and loss of the very things upon which the success of the voyage most depends. Hence, the spare boats, spare spars, and spare lines and harpoons, and spare everythings, almost, but a spare Captain and duplicate ship.

I know, too, that ever since he lost his leg last voyage by that accursed whale, he's been a kind of moody—desperate moody, and savage sometimes; but that will all pass off. And once for all, let me tell thee and assure thee, young man, it's better to sail with a moody good captain than a laughing bad one.

Bajo el sombrero gacho una lágrima cayó al mar desde los ojos de Ahab; el Pacífico nunca contuvo tanta riqueza como esa única gota de dolor.

I almost died, and I realized that all I regretted was you.

shot at. All I did at Wotje was lose control

No one's death comes to pass without making some impression, and those close to the deacesed inherit part of the liberated soul and become richer in their humanities.

In peacetime it is sons who bury their fathers Ã¢â'¬â€œ but in times of war, it is fathers who bury their sons.

Porque nadie es tan necio que prefiera la guerra a la paz: en ésta los hijos entierran a sus padres, y en aquella los padres a los hijos.

When you have lost your inns, you may drown your empty selves. For you have lost the heart of England.

The poet Hilaire Belloc included the following poem about the dodo in his Bad Child's Book of Beasts from 1896: The Dodo used to walk around, And take the sun and air. The sun yet warms his native ground – The Dodo is not there! The voice which used to squawk and squeak Is now for ever dumb – Yet may you see his bones and beak All in the Mu-se-um.[147]

The science books are right about potential. It's easier to lose it than to get it back.

There's a special place kept for the person who first breaks your heart.

I'm sure you've heard people use the term, You just don't get it. Well, I figured out the 'it' is the point in life. I believe I was supposed to have been there when my father died, but it was a point in life I just didn't get.

That's the detail of the dead woman I always remember: her bare left foot, along with packets of Top Ramen and a torn box of cat food strewn about as plastic bags danced in the wind of passing cars. I always think how, when she left the house that day, the last thing on that woman's mind must have been the possibility of dying on the pavement with dried noodles crowning her head. Maybe if she had paid more attention to detail, like the oncoming car, she would have made it home to feed her cat.

And overpowered by memory Both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely For man - killing Hector, throbbing, crouching Before Achilles' feet as Achilles wept himself, Now for his father, now for Patroclus once again And their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.

but there they lay, sprawled across the field, craved far more by the vultures than by wives.

Cattle and fat sheep can all be had for the raiding, tripods for the trading, and tawny headed stallions. But a mans's lifebreath cannot come back again- no raiders in force, no trading brings it back, once it slips through a man's clenched teeth.

Grief wrapped around her, eating at her heart. The house was full of chairs but she could not bear to sit upright.

Yet if our chief for plunder only fight, The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite, Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conquering powers Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers.

but these lay dead on the ground, far dearer now to the vultures than to their wives.