Quotes About Loss

I felt her loss in a powerfully physical way. I missed her smell and the sticky wet of her breath on my neck. I missed her fingers scratching through my hair. We sat next to each other, lay across each other, pushed, pulled, stroked, and struck each other a hundred times a day and I suffered the deprivation of this. It was an ache, a hunger on the surface of my skin.

If we give ourselves permission to say this death justifies that one, then we truly are lost.

I think—" Anakin kicked his heel against the polished marble floor. "I think I hate it when I can't stop my men from getting hurt. From dying. I think—

Space and time blurred and the void filled with explosions and shards and narrow misses and voices in the Force: his pilots, laughing and swearing and howling to their deaths. He laughed and swore and howled along with them, the silence unbearable. Kill, kill, and kill again, slaughter the starfighters, slaughter the Tuskens, every loss is the same loss, every pain springs from one source. Save Kothlis, save Coruscant, save Padmé. Save them all.

The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin.

I can't—" Lena repeated. "I can't do it. I can't live without him." Sara gently pulled her hand away from Jared's. She smoothed down the sheet, tucked it in close around his side. She looked at Lena—really looked at her straight in the eye. "Good," Sara told her. "Now you know how it feels.

When somebody dies, you forget they're an asshole.

As hard as it was to hold on to things, it was even harder to let them go.

And now, when she looked in the mirror and saw a new line on her own face,a new wrinkle, all she could think was that she was growing old without him

How I compare it to now is, at this moment we are all living through, everyone on earth is experiencing a suspension of loss. Over half a million people dead in the United States alone. The number is too overwhelming to accept, so we go on with our lives and we do what we can but, in the end, the staggering loss will be waiting for us. It always catches up to you, doesn't it?

Your relationship with a person doesn't end when they die. It only gets stronger." He winked at her. "Mostly because they're not there to tell you that you're wrong.

Jeffrey never understood how people could think a dead person was just sleeping. Death changed the air, charged it with something thick and unsettling.

It's always sad when someone dies of a cliché.

What a rapist takes from a woman is her future. The person she is going to become, who she is supposed to be, is gone. In many ways , it's worse than murder, because he has killed that potential person, eradicated that potential life, yet she still lives and breathes, and has to figure out another way to thrive....Or not, in some cases.... ....Sounds a lot like being shot in the head.

Michael swallowed, feeling like he was choking on his grief. "Fifteen," he said. She'd just had a birthday last week. He'd bought her a stuffed giraffe. "She's fifteen.

It's the curse of the motherless child. We seek comfort from the very people who do us harm.

To explain that she knew how marriages worked, understood the petty grievances that could build up. She should tell Charlie that it didn't matter. That if you loved someone, you should do everything you could to make it work because the person you adored more than anyone else in the world could complain of a sore throat one day and be dead the next.

She's just come undone, her mother had whispered on the phone to her aunt Bella. It was an old colloquialism, the sort of thing you didn't think people still said. The phrase fit Sara so completely that she had found herself surrendering to it, imagining her arms and her legs detaching from her body. What did it matter? What did she need arms or legs or hands or feet for if she couldn't run to him, hold him, touch him?

Claire hung up the phone. She thought about the hours she had spent with Adam Quinn. Hours she should've spent with her husband. Hours she would kill to have back now. There

He said, "What a rapist takes from a woman is her future. The person she is going to become, who she is supposed to be, is gone. In many ways, it's worse than murder, because he has killed that potential person, eradicated that potential life, yet she still lives and breathes, and has to figure out another way to thrive.

The shooting. It had a name now, an after that calved her life away from the before.

Or was she making a connection that wasn't there, like an amputee who still feels a missing arm or leg long after it's gone?

Tears had rolled down his cheeks, one long drip after another, like condensation on the side of a glass.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose/With my lost saints/I love thee with the breath/Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose/I shall but love thee better after death.