Quotes About Loss

the one who best understands the significance of light is not the electrician, not the painter, not the photographer, but the man who has lost his sight in adulthood.

my hopes changed into a heap of shapeless rags, like seaweed pulled out of the water.

If we had been far apart even before the accident, what was I trying to recapture at this late date with all the fuss about the mask? Nothing was worth the trouble of getting back. There wasn't a single thing to hide from the eight uneventful years we had spent together; since I was enclosed by a wall of nonexpression thicker than my bandages, I had lost all right to complain.

none of the tests performed thus far had revealed the true reason Akane had lost consciousness

Sometimes, roughly once a year, Akane's mother would appear to her like this as a hallucination that only she could see. But what felt even stranger was that her mother—who had died young—appeared to have aged appropriately in her illusory form.

If she were still alive, she would be forty-five this year.

Alles, was du liebst, geht sehr wahrscheinlich verloren, aber am Ende wird die Liebe auf andere Weise zurückkehren.

This showed once again that everyone had something different to lose in this battle. Some were concerned for their lives, and some for those they cared most about: rays, sea horses, even the chickens that ran free in the streets of the city because they couldn't all be caught in time.

Somehow she felt hollow, as though her heart was wrenched away from her. She didn't realize it. She hadn't expected it. She loved Fallon.

They were gone. They'd come for her, but she'd missed them and she was never going to get home again. When she finally turned toward the door to the apartment once more, she saw that Lucien had dragged himself from the bed. He was braced in the door frame, his dark skin bleached of color.

Sometimes at night I think that my husband is with me again, coming gently through the mists, and we are tranquil together. Then the morning comes, the wavering grey turns to gold, there is stirring within me as the sleepers awake, and he softly departs.

In Rome, they stared for hours at the magnificent Apollo and Daphne. Minna described the piece in a letter to a friend. "The Greeks construed Apollo's loss of Daphne," she wrote, "as symbolizing that all mortals shall be denied the Heart's Desire, ever the unattainable.

I have conquered them all, but I am standing amongst graves

To die for the one you loved was an effort too sweet for words.

It is more than their land that you take away from the people, whose Native land you take. It is their past as well, their roots and their identity. If you take away the things that they have been used to see, and will be expecting to see, you may, in a way, as well take their eyes.

Dementia was an unforgiving illness, one that stole hope and crumbled pride.

Every day stole away more of her presence, leaving in its place faint wisps of memories devoid of color, scent, and sound.

Right now, Mama G's memory is like the ocean. It comes and goes, high tide and low tide. But each time, the beach erodes a little bit more.

Ma had been a tumbleweed too, holding on for as long as she could, then blowing away on the wind. My father was more like the sod. Steady, silent, and deep. Holding on to life, with reserves underneath to sustain him, and me, And anyone else who came near. My father stayed rooted, even with my tests and my temper, even with the double sorrow of his grief and my own, he had kept a home until I broke it.

Every mother can easily imagine losing a child. Motherhood is always half loss anyway. The three-year-old is lost at five, the five-year-old at nine. We consort with ghosts, even as we sit and eat with, scold and kiss, their current corporeal forms. We speak to people who have vanished and, when they answer us, they do the same. Naturally, the information in these speeches is garbled in the translation.

IN EVERYONE'S LIFE there are people who stay and people who go and people who are taken away against their will.

Have you ever noticed," Rosalie asks, "that the coloreds are always singing of the coming glory and the Irish are always singing of the glory lost?

Grief had destroyed Rosalie's parents. It seemed that God had reached down and scooped out the middle of the family as casually as if he were eating a watermelon.

Before, my brother was part of the family. After, he was just killing time until he could be shed of us.