Quotes About Loss

Oh she says the inconceivable sorrow of it, those chairs piled up at night when you're sitting in a cafè. The last one left.

A daughter, a wife, a grandson,' You could say this place took away all I had. I could easily appear to be one of those unfortunate white men you hear about, who thought too lovingly of the other races and civilization of the world, who left his own country in the West to set up a home among them in the East, and was ruined as a result, paying dearly for his foolish mistake. His life smashed to pieces by the barbarians surrounding him.

In some respects, grief for the lost and missing is worse than grief for the dead, and sometimes just for a fraction of a second its intensity makes her wish Mikal would cease to exist, so she wouldn't have to wonder if she will ever see him again.

Laments were as old as verses of love, she knew. They were verses of love. For the departed who will never be met again, for the burned cities.

Why can't I wake up? she had said upon opening her eyes in bed the day after her mother's death.

How easy it is to create ghosts, he thinks as he begins to die a minute later, feeling his mind closing chamber by chamber, the memory of Naheed contained in each one. And despite it all it means much to have been loved. Just before the world vanishes, a hope surfaces in him that this wasn't necessarily everything, that he will return somehow. His arm rises, remembering when it used to be a wing.

On the bottom shelf M. kept the books from his childhood days: Pushkin, Lermontov, Gogol, the Iliad - they are described in The Noise of Time and happened to have been saved by M.'s father. Most of them later perished in Kalinin when I was fleeing from the Germans. The way we have scurried to and fro in the twentieth century, trapped between Hitler and Stalin!

You have the power to tear me to pieces, to wound me so deep and true that I'll never recover. What Rissa's death did to the boy I was? You have the ability to do a thousand times worse to the man I've become.

I used to think that I could never lose anyone if I photographed them enough. In fact, my pictures show me how much I've lost.

Sorrow fought with joy in his mind. He was going home, but he had lost Thorgil and Rune forever.

She was obviously devastated by her loss. But not so devastated that she did not find the energy to utterly vanquish Diane.

Tata Ante La Muerte De Don Pablo (para Rosa Amelia González) Mohina y serena, sin la trenza engañosa, en un silencio embalsamado, miras el paso de la muerte llegar. Tu boca firme dice con la pausa del ave en la llanura: La muerte es la mejor de las desgracias porque borra todas las demás.

While music may be the food of love, it can also serve as solace for love's demise.

But I never forgot Florence. And now, my wife has passed away, and I wondered if it was possible that Florence still remembered me as I remember her.

Thank you for the time we shared, for the love you gave, for the wisdom you spread. I will always treasure the lessons you taught me. I will carry them with me all the days of my life. I am so proud to be your child. -From A Prayer When a Parent Dies

I wanted to rub handprints through his dust

I will see you bereft of all that you have, of home and happiness and beautiful things. I will see your nation cast down and your allies drawn away. I will see you as alone and friendless and wretched as am I; and then you may live as long as you like, in some dark and lonely corner of the earth, and I shall call myself content. -Lien, Albino Celestial (Dragon)

Everyone says you love a Dragon-born girl differently as she gets older; you can't help it, knowing you so easily might lose her.

She'd remembered the wrong things, and forgotten too much. She'd remembered how to kill and how to hate, and she'd forgotten how to grow.

I didn't really understand what mothers were, because mine was in a tree, but I knew they were very good things and you were very angry and sad if you lost them.

I didn't need this much more to lose.

I know i'm making her sound like something out of a story. But it was the other way around. When my mother told me stories about the spinning princess or the brave goose-girl or the river-maiden, in my head I imagined them all a little like Kasia; that was how I thought of her. And I wasn't old enough to be wise, so I loved her more, not less, because I knew she would be taken from me soon.

But my father's irritation told me otherwise. I had been a disappointment to him from the beginning, my mother having taken an excessive number of years to produce me, and shortly afterwards miscarrying the overdue son and dying with him.

And I wasn't old enough to be wise, so I loved her more, not less, because I knew she would be taken from me soon. She