Best 4819 quotes in «loss quotes» category

Faith is never connected to safe. There is no faith without tension. For a rubber band to function to it's elasticity, it has to experience a tension. Saints of God who has no tension has no function.

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy; My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy

Farewell, my dearest. You have but gone ahead... but I shall follow, and run, at last, again into your arms... and laugh away the years that came between.

Father, be near as we are surrounded by this cloud of deep suffering. Open our eyes to see that you are all things, the light and the darkness, not only those things that seem good in our eyes, but the horrifying unexplainable. Wrap us up inside of the cloud and reveal the mysteries that can only be learned in places of sorrow, that when we walk out we will be as Moses, transformed by the shadow and beaming with the radiant light of your glory. Give us the strength to love on, though our hearts are broken.

FAVORITE GIRL IN THE WORLD. STILL MY FRIEND? Please meet me on the bleachers after school. Please. And I’m sorry. Sorrier than any person has ever been sorry in the history of sorry people. I’ll put in one last please for good luck. Sorry. Again.

Fear of making mistakes can itself become a huge mistake, one that prevents you from living, for life is risky and anything less is already loss.

Fear manifested itself as a physical presence that seemed to dominate the public sphere. Time almost stopped. Even without confirmation I could sense that something had gone terribly wrong.

Finally a day will come when woken by the xylophone of sunthroughblinds you’ll realise that the beach was not the place where horses tore the sand to ribbon that the scent of him has lifted from the last of the sheets that he isn’t coming back that it hasn’t rained but the birds are pretending that it has so they can sing

Finally I've learnt to live without you! I think...

Finding peace of mind usually demands that we lose some things and some people.

First of all, he was not my type. He was nice, considerate, unselfish and grounded; qualities I’d never experienced in a man. Usually, I went for the self centered, screwed up, “I’m lost, will you be my mother” type.

Following the death of his wife, Sam Johnson wrote to the Reverend Mr. Thomas Warton, "I have ever since seemed to myself broken off from mankind; a kind of solitary wanderer in the wilds of life, without any certain direction, or fixed point of view: a gloomy gazer on a world to which I have little relation." But my wife wasn't dead, merely absent.

For all her culture's attention to the physical, it seemingly has little to salve the creatural anguish of losing someone else's body, their touch, their heat, their oceanic heart...she doesn't want another body, she wants the body she loved, the forceps scar across his cheek that she traced with her hand, his penis, its elegant sweep to the side, the preternaturally soft skin. One wants what one has loved, not the idea of love.

For a long time I spent my weary days in a fog of what might be and what has been and I guess you could say im still learning how to accept what is.

For a long while they are silent, thinking about abstract things like control and what it means to love an institution that is defined by loss, because a library is such a space and their duty is to encourage the books to leave.

For a full two hours, he stood at that door, a cloud of uncertainty ruling his mind. Damian felt like his heart was about to burst. Could she love him? Was it really true?

For anyone who feels lost in their own way, going back to who you are and what you love or moving forward to whoever you are meant to be or meant to love, is the purpose of being lost. We lose ourselves, so we can find out who we truly are. And when by fate we do, we discover the best version of ourselves.

For centuries I have thought all my despair is grief. But people get over grief. They get over even the most serious grief in a matter of years. If not get over then at least live beside. And the way they do this is by investing in other people, through friendship, through family, through teaching, through love.

For certain, neither of them sees a happy Present, as the gate opens and closes, and one goes in, and the other goes away.

For as much as I hate the cemetery, I’ve been grateful it’s here, too. I miss my wife. It’s easier to miss her at a cemetery, where she’s never been anything but dead, than to miss her in all the places where she was alive.

Forever does not make loss forgettable, only bearable.

For death is the only certain thing in life,and despite this cliché being an absolute truth, with only the timing varying from one person to another, we never seem to be prepared for it. It is regarded as an end, as final and as negative, not as the metamorphosis it might be– the release of a spirit from physical to energy form, not unlike a caterpillar turning into a butterfly and experiencing new found freedom from the limitation of eternal crawling in search of sustenance.

For darkness terrifies. It swallows you, warps you, nullifies you. Who alive can possibly profess confidence in darkness? In the dark, you can't see.

Forget about what you might have lost but instead focus on what you have room to gain.

Forgetting about appointments has become a normal aspect of life for me.

Forgiveness is a conscious choice to become more liberated and less constrained by the past. This simple act of changing one’s mindset can be the wellspring of tolerance, mercy, and compassion.

Forgive yourself for the lives that will be lost, but do not forget them. A good leader always recognizes that sacrifices must be made in order to win, but remembering or forgetting those who sacrificed themselves for your cause is what separates the tyrants from the benevolent.

Fornication and adultery unleash destructive consequences into a person's life: • Poverty; • Lack of perception; • Loss of respect and mutual acceptance; • Children with shattered futures; • Dullness of the senses and of the intellect; • Deterioration of health.

For også hun hadde hat sin historie, sin lille uregelmæssighet i sit liv (...)Siden sit ulykkelige forhold til en ung fremmed, en ren æventyrer ved navn Johan Nagel, en uanselig dværg, som hadde dukket op på hendes vei ifjor og gjort hende ganske forvirret, hadde fru Dagny hat sine dulgte sorger å trækkes med. Forholdet var ikke endt med at en hat sænkedes dypt og en pyntelig farvel hadde lydt, nei den vilde man var gåt på hodet i havet og hadde gjort ende på sig uten å si et ord.

For men, shutting out your friends and family is often preferred over facing one’s emotions, confronting one’s anger, and appearing vulnerable in front of those you most rely upon for respect and self-image. A painful, but valuable discovery, for me and many other men, is that to be vulnerable in front of others is a sign of strength.

Forse si vive una vita a metà, quando si perde la persona che si ama. Forse l’amore ti entra dentro così a fondo da diventare parte di te, non meno di una gamba o di un braccio o di un organo. Forse persino di più, perché diventa parte della tua anima, e quando una parte della tua anima muore non puoi asportarla, toglierla o strapparla via, se ne resta semplicemente lì, dove tu non puoi fare a meno di vederla.

For so long, she had remained the sleeping volcano, her passion and pain and anger roiling quietly as lava within. She’d buried her love deep within her core; with heat and pressure she made diamonds of it all, gemstones precious and beautiful, glittering and indestructible and of no use but to be hoarded in her heart.

For need can blossom into all the compensation it requires. To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow. For when does a berry break upon the tongue as sweetly as when one longs to taste it, and when is the taste refracted into so many hues and savors of ripeness and earth, and when do our senses know any thing so utterly as when we lack it? And here again is a foreshadowing-the world will be made whole. For to wish for a hand on one's hair is all but to feel it. So whatever we may lose, very craving gives it back to us again. Though we dream and hardly know it, longing, like an angel, fosters us, smooths our hair, and brings us wild strawberries.

…for people leave But memories stay forever!

For the first time since Sarah died, I know she is with me. Not in that cliché watching-over-me-on-a-cloud kind of with me, but in this feeling that washes over me. She is everything I have ever known about love, and she's taught me how to know this feeling now.

For there are moments in all our lives, great and small, that we must trudge alone our forlorn roads into infinite wilderness, to endure our midnight hours of pain and sorrow--- the Gethsemane moments, when we are on our knees or backs, crying out to a universe that seems to have abandoned us. These are the greatest of moments, where we show our souls. Thee are our "finest hours." That these moments are given to us is neither accidental not cruel. Without great mountains we cannot reach great heights. And we were born to reach great heights.

For those who find suffering inevitable--in other words, for any of us who can't dodge and pretend it's not there--acknowledging what actually happens is necessary, even if it takes decades, as it has for me.

For weeks, really, I could conjure him into being. I'd imagine him walking in, soaked in sweat, having finished mowing the lawn, and he'd try to hug me but i'd squirm out from his arms because even then sweat freaked me out. Or I'd be in my room, lying on my stomach, reading a book, and I'd look over at the closed door and imagine him opening it, and then he would be in the room with me, and I'd be looking up at him as he knelt down to kiss the top of my head. And then it became harder to summon him, to smell his smell, to feel him lifting me up. My father died suddenly, but also across the years. He was still dying, really—which meant I guess that he was still living, too.

For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Gospel of Mark ~ Mark 8:36

For us, fear comes where terror comes to others because we are anesthetized to the guns constantly pointed at us. And the terror we have known is something few Westerners ever will. Israeli occupation exposes us very young to the extremes of our emotions, until we cannot feel except in the extreme. [...] Our sadness can make the stones weep. And the way we love is no exception.

For you are you, and I am I, and once we were we… but as long as I exist and so do you – know that I will always love you.

For your love given ask no return, none. To love you must love to love.

Free is he who is reputable for not being fearful of losing his reputation.

Friedrich Rückert wrote 425 poems After his two youngest children Died from scarlet fever Within sixteen days of each other In 1833 and 1834 he could not cope And often thought they had gone out For a while "they'll be home soon" He told himself to tell his wife "They're only taking a long walk" Mahler scored five of those poems In 1901 and 1904 for a vocalist And an orchestra to break your heart As soon as I heard the plaintive oboe And the descending movement of the horn And the lyric baritone entering I felt I should not be listening To Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau singing Kindertotenlieder with the Berlin Philharmonic Mahler's wife was superstitious And thought he was chancing disaster With Songs on the Death of Children "Now the sun wants to rise so brightly As if nothing terrible had happened overnight That tragedy happened to me alone" Mahler knew he could never have written them After his four-year-old daughter died From scarlet fever three years later He said he felt sorry for himself That he needed to write these songs And for the world that would listen to them

Friendship is like an investment; the best type yields the best profit for you! It's not just about making friends; it's about making right friends for the right reasons!

From loss breeds new life

From my distance the loss was theoretical, and though I couldn’t have said so, I preferred it that way. I felt relieved to be so far away, because I was excused from grieving. I felt nothing but tenderness for her, but there was an emotional emancipation to being here and not there. Even though I didn’t believe in God or heaven, I could childishly go on believing that she was still around. When it happened, the specific timing of my grandmother’s death seemed like a footnote: She died just after I went away. But a lesson would persist as I formed and unformed long-distance relationships over the years. Going away could free you from feeling too much.

from Taking Your Clothes to the Salvation Army: Okay, so strangers will be grateful for this, will wear the socks to keep their feet warm, blow their noses in your handkerchiefs, pull up the shorts, tuck in the size large shirts (too small for our boys, too big for our daughter), and bits of you will be out there, engaging in a life you no longer have.

From the dear comes grief; From the dear comes fear. If you're freed from the dear You'll have no grief, let alone fear.

From Orient Point The art of living isn't hard to muster: Enjoy the hour, not what it might portend. When someone makes you promises, don't trust her unless they're in the here and now, and just her willing largesse free-handed to a friend. The art of living isn't hard to muster: groom the old dog, her coat gets back its luster; take brisk walks so you're hungry at the end. When someone makes you promises, don't trust her to know she can afford what they will cost her to keep until they're kept. Till then, pretend the art of living isn't hard to muster. Cooking, eating and drinking are a cluster of pleasures. Next time, don't go round the bend when someone makes you promises. Don't trust her past where you'd trust yourself, and don't adjust her words to mean more to you than she'd intend. The art of living isn't hard to muster. You never had her, so you haven't lost her like spare house keys. Whatever she opens, when someone makes you promises, don't. Trust your art; go on living: that's not hard to muster.