Quotes About Loss

I may have lost my mind for a time, but grief makes everyone crazy. Losing someone makes you lose yourself, makes you yearn for the impossible: one more day with the lost, an end to the pain, a cure for the spiritual malaise that eats you alive every morning you wake up alone. It makes you believe in wishes and other places.

Everything isn't dead. Only gone.

Because despite the torture he'd been put through, the pain and loss he did not believe he had done anything to deserve, he had tried to be a decent person, tried to stay within the confines of morality. And all it had gotten him was more suffering.

You say you can't imagine what it must be like to lose a child. Let me make it easy for you. It's the beginning of the end of your world.

I may have lost my mind for a time, but grief makes everyone crazy.

Grief is dishonest and irrational. It makes us believe we would do anything to restore the natural order as we perceive it, even though it is the very same order that extinguishes the ones we love. And should our wish be fulfilled and the dead return, we'd be left to answer

you must try to get on with things or the grief will destroy you. You must put away the reminders of loss to have any hope of surviving

Ghosts, after all, have little to celebrate and the living have plenty to mourn.

Grief changes shape, but it never ends.

When the people you love are gone, you're alone.

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I am gone and am not coming back, but I remember everything.

To lose one's name is the beginning of forgetting.

Imaginary friends often leave without warning.

The most merciless thing in the world is love. When love flees, all that remains is memory to compensate.

O que a memória perde, a imaginação volta a criar.

He could be alone with her, but it was difficult learning to be alone without her.

He'd been hit by a car, knocked off his bike. At the funeral the vicar had called it an "accident". But somehow the word wasn't enough. It wasn't big enough, powerful enough - didn't mean enough. He hadn't spilled a cup of tea, he hadn't tripped over his own feet. He'd had the life smashed out of him. It felt like there should be a whole new word invented just to describe it.

I thought you'd be there waiting for me … What greeted me instead was the lingering stench of ashes and the empty sockets of our ruined home. Samuel Puterman on his return to Warsaw, 1945

Lidice, along with thousands of other villages, was switched off like a light.

Of the 3 million prisoners taken by the Soviets during the war, more than a third died in captivity.

Love is two blind people sword fighting, love is a queen on a desert island, love is self-immolation, love is running scared in the dark, love is two people each of whose saliva is poison for the other, love is an empty house, a sunken boat, a crippled dancer.

Death is the one foe that everyone faces, the one foe that never loses.

Then the image came back into his head. His wife Mary, pinned to the ceiling, blood pooling outward from her stomach, fire surrounding and consuming her.