Quotes About Loss

Grief In the night I brush my teeth with a razor

I am no longer ashamed how for weeks, after, I wanted to be dead--not to die, mind you, or do myself in--but to be there already, walking amongst all those I'd lost, to join the throng singing, if that's what there is-- or the nothing, the gnawing-- So be it.

Like grass in rain, my dead grow at an amazing rate.

Often, in death, everything else fails. We are left only with the music and the meaning of poetry.

Death brings with it a duty and devotion that cannot be explained to those who don't know it.

How I wish I could leave or forget all my dead.

Every pore mourns. Not the brain, nor the chest where bereavement nests, but the body, whole-- how it burns. The ache of new bone being grown.

To lose someone close to you is to enter an experience no amount of forethought or hindsight can free you from. You must live through grief. You cannot outsmart it, nor think through the fact of someone's being gone, and forever. You must survive the sorrow.

Grief might be easy if there wasn't still such beauty--would be far simpler if the silver maple didn't thrust its leaves into flame, trusting that spring will find it again.

it always hurts more to have and lose than to not have in the first place.

She said, 'I'm so afraid.' And I said, 'why?,' and she said, 'Because I'm so profoundly happy, Dr. Rasul. Happiness like this is frightening.' I asked her why and she said, 'They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something from you.

Time can be a greedy thing-sometimes it steals the details for itself.

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

Comfort murders the passion of the soul, then walks grinning at the funeral.

The eye hath ruined me,' the heart complained. 'The heart has lost me,' the eye replied. I know not which told the truth, which lied Between, the two, it was Meer who died.

How downhearted was Meer at night! Whatever came to his lips became a cry for help. When he started on the path of love, he was like fire; Now it's ended he is a heap of ashes on a pyre.

A simmering fire burns our hearts away; We sink and my heart in depth of agony lies; As with the dawn the taper of the lamp Laps up the last drops of oil and dies.

The great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.

Everything breaks down but desire. And because we are old, doctors try to shame that out of us. Young punks! Lose one's youth, and doctors take it as axiomatic that you've lost your mind, your balls.

Sometimes, child, we die in metaphor.

Since history, war has always been the same. Old men talking, young men dying.

I used to think Ming was her favorite. But she's grown too private, too remote. Rachel is lost. And I am too haolefied, what my mother taught me, so we could survive in that other world, the one that killed her

I hope you find someone you can't live without.I really do. And I hope you never have to know what it's like to have to try and live without them.

the death toll on the Diamond and the Swallow was terrible. Between the two vessels, thirty-two passengers and crew—well over 10 percent of their total complement—had died at sea, their bodies thrown overboard. Somehow, during the crossing, perhaps at the height of the storm, two of the women passengers gave birth to babies. Not surprisingly given the circumstances, the two children, both boys, died in mid-Atlantic.