Quotes About Loss

When you hold hands with the dead, eventually they pull you into the grave.

You ask me what it feels like to have wings. I can only tell you the feeling with words. And words have neither feelings nor wings. Words are leaky vessels into which a cargo of meaning and emotion are placed, and when they leave you and reach the farther shore of another mind a considerable portion of that cargo has been lost at sea. Fallen overboard, gone to rot, consumed by vermin, decayed to a state unlike its original form.

You know the Etruscan saying: 'Once grieving starts it never ends, so there's no point in grieving an hour earlier than you must.

Pity the child for his loss. He truly wanted his laser gun to kill the Minotaur, believed that it would, even. Each time an act of hope fails, the capacity for experiencing hope itself diminishes. The child will be lucky if he reaches adulthood with even a shred of faith intact.

Audrey gave more than she ever got. The whole world is going to miss her.

I had a friend who was a clown. When he died, all his friends went to the funeral in one car.

I poured spot remover on my dog. Now he's gone.

I washed a sock. Then I put it in the dryer. When I took it out, it was gone.

I spilled spot remover on my dog; now he's gone.

I woke up one morning, and all of my stuff had been stolen and replaced by exact duplicates".

If there wasn't death, I think you couldn't go on.

Late in life, after his mother had died, his father cried at baptisms and funerals and sappy movies on TV, age stripping away a final protective layer. Now Henry could feel the same softening taking place inside him, a helpless grief for the past and boundless pity for the world, and that was right too. No fool like an old fool.

There's nothing to do. You've been in the business long enough to understand grief. That's the awful thing: there is nothing to do but go on. You don't want to, you don't want to leave the loved one behind, but you do. Death's taught you that much at least.

But so uncaring is life against the man who has killed a child that everything after is too late.

I spent much of my time painting, and portraits of a dozen lost loves adorned the walls of my home; their cold eyes stared down at me with disdain, their lips forever smiling.

It was a sacrifice. At that moment, she realized that Valraven too was a sacrifice. Not one of blood, but of something else, perhaps spirit. He had been sacrificed to Madragore.

Part of Owen lives inside him, because he had stolen it. Only by giving it back could Owen be restored, but Shem was physically incapable of achieving that at present. He had forgotten how to give.

I smiled when I discovered the bruise of a love-flower on his neck-quite a large one, in fact. It was one of those poignantly sad moments; whomever had given in that vigorous caress would never do so again.

Daniel, beloved, I am powerless to effect the destiny of the divine in the flesh. The time of resurrection is at hand. I can only lament for the loss of his light but I am she who is eternally with you.

You lost your god here in the flower of Babylon.

I have experienced perfect love, but felt driven to destroy it. Strange. Just didn't feel right. Felt too good, I suppose. Perhaps I destroyed it before it destroyed me.

The man was canny, but then he had not lost a son.

She had sacrificed a potential relationship for the sake of a dream that could never be real.

To be apart from Min would be like dying for him, and no gloves of fur and snakeskin could stroke away the pain.