Best 4819 quotes in «loss quotes» category

I had no intention of forsaking my wedding vows. I had strong morals and never could have imagined going against them. I was never even tempted to stray.

I had often said that I would write, the wives of geniuses I have sat with. I have sat with so many. I have sat with wives who were not wives, of geniuses who were real geniuses. I have sat with real wives of geniuses who were not real geniuses. In short, I have sat very often and very long with many wives and wives of many geniuses.' Gertrude Stein wrote this in the voice of her partner, Alice B. Toklas, Stein being apparently the genius, Alice apparently the wife. 'I am nothing,' Alice said after Gertrude dies, 'but a memory of her.' ...the flashing blues and red made him look ill, then well, then ill again...

I had just turned thirty. That was enough in itself to be depressed about. I never thought I would be this age and feel this worthless. I was supposed to be “somebody.” I guess you could say I was slightly disappointed at the outcome.

I hadn’t understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy,why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.

[...] I had to press against the Plexiglas to feel the blood and body heat of his loss, stare hard at the loss so I could remember how its face was shaped, the exact color of its eyes, something to get me through the next year of living with my husband and not his loss, but the lack of his loss, a bleached-out version of it, a numb heart that hosted something with a real heart and pulse and wildness because my husband had only the most basic pulse and absolutely no wildness, but his loss was wild, was wild and filled with fast blood, and I could understand that angry bright red thing.

I had someone once who made every day mean something. And now…. I am lost…. And nothing means anything anymore.

I had to get used to it because my life was no longer safe and I was no longer protected like I once was.

I hate the way the world feels when love is gone

I haunted and interrogated the past even as it interrogated me. London, Skinner's Lane, Brook Street, the Sudan - how had we passed all that time? Why did we not burn up every moment of it, as we would if we could have it all again? The journey back to England surfaced in dreams and occupied my days, the train to Wadi Halfa panting across the desert, reading old newspapers in the white, shuttered carriages while Taha, alas, was obliged to travel with the guard; and the stops, which had no names, but only a number, painted on a little shelter beside the track; and the steamer to the first Cateract and the visionary beauty of Aswan.

I have a RAGING SEA inside of me, trying to break free from ALL of me.

I have always been a fire, and everyone I loved walked away as ashes, until I met a phoenix who was born to love flames.

I have cried over myself a hundred times this summer, she thought, I have wept over my big feet and my skinny legs and my nose, I have even cried over my stupid shoes, and now when I have true sadness there are no tears left.

I have been at war with parts of myself for so long

I have ceased and desisted from smiling The frosty wind chills lips - say so long To one hope of which will be lesser, Instead there will be one more song. And this song, without my volition, I will give out for laughter and parable, For this that the silence of love Is to me simply unbearable.

I have been loved," she said, "by something strange, and it has forgotten me.

I have died at the ripe age of twenty. Smile, for the world didn't get a chance to disappoint me. I have died at the mature age of ninety. Smile, for my life was more than satisfying. I have died suddenly—out of the blue. Smile, for I didn't have to fall ill before you. I have died from a long illness. Smile, for I had the chance to say goodbye. I did not want to leave this Earth. But smile, for I am still here among you. Why are you crying? Can you not see I am smiling?

I have never been sad because my losses are my profits

I have loved and lost in so many different ways. And I have died endless deaths… So when I ask myself, the question today, who am I? My answer is…I do not know.

I have loved and lost many a time, but along the way I have found myself.

I have seen enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should give us comfort rather than sorrow, for Heaven is just, and such things teach us impressively that there is a far brighter world than this, and that the passage to it is speedy.

I have poured my heart out …. And now I am empty.

I have suffered great losses and have been blessed with great consolations, but whatever life may give me or take away, this is the simple wisdom that will always light my life: I have loved, passionately, fearlessly, with all my heart and all my soul, and I have been loved in return. For me, this is enough.

I have the strength to stand before you and talk about loss because I spent my entire life practicing the art of saying goodbye.

I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. Verse XXVII

I hope that I get to see you love what you are. To know yourself as gift and worth and truth. That you see what a huge thing it is to have the courage to break your own heart. That you have chosen wholeness — even when it has shattered you. And that you will one day see that you can be whole and broken in the exact same spaces, that they nestle side by side — and that this is the way of things. Not your punishment for wrongdoing, or for not trying hard enough — but just the way of things. That you can stand and look at yourself in a mirror and see your goodness right there, see the worth of what you bring on the surface of your skin, just like I do. That you trust there is brilliance to come. That you own what is yours to own, both the bad and the good. That you do not insist on owning it all. It was never all yours to hold

It is all gone, though Peter. All of it is gone! And there is no way to get it back. 'Eat,' said Leo Matienne again, very gently. Peter looked the truth of what he had lost full in the face. And then he ate.

I knew a girl, once, immortal like me-" "And she was with someone mortal?" said Alec. "What happened?" "He died," Magnus said. There was a finality to the way he said it that spoke of a deeper grief than words could paint.

I kept you so well, buried beneath the darkest shame and stilled with filthy lies. Perhaps I should have dug deeper.

I knew beauty for me would only ever be derived from loss.

I knew this for a fact. Little by little, the ache to see him, to hear him would disappear. Little by little I’d forget how his arms felt, how his fingers felt, how his lips felt..the sound of his voice, the intensity of his gaze, all of it. Trace by trace it would slip from my mind, recede into foggy memory. The painful haze that dulled my present would melt into the past. Maybe not all the way, maybe there would be a few scars. Maybe I'd be different, but I’d be me again. Little by little.

I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. You didn't get past something like that, you got through it.

I knew that I could not possibly teach; the energy and clarity that teaching requires, which I'd always taken for granted, were gone.

I know I must have been loved like that, even if I can’t remember it. I must have; otherwise, how could I even recognize love when I saw it that night between Ob and May? Before she died, I know my mother must have loved to comb my shiny hair and rub that Johnson’s baby lotion up and down my arms and wrap me up and hold and hold me all night long. She must have known she wasn’t going to live and she must have held me longer than any other mother might, so I’d have enough love in me to know what love was when I saw it or felt it again.

I know this: there is no sense to grief. There is no pattern or shape or texture, and there are no books or stories which can lessen the pain at losing a person you have loved, and will always love. There are no rules, with loss.

i like a fool stayed waiting for the day you would do something different

I liked holding David’s hand, though. That part-the snow dampening my face, letting my tears mix without anyone seeing, his fingers snug in mine-that was nice. His hand was heavier than I would have guessed. More solid. Like he could keep me from flying away.

I lived my grief; I slept mourning and ate sorrow and drank tears. I ignored all else.

I look back to where my life had been. It's always risky to think of letting go. That's why this is the perfect ending. Nothing left to reconcile.

I look. There it is. I feel it. The insistent pull to the heart that the hawk brings, that very old longing of mine to possess the hawk's eye. To live the safe and solitary life; to look down on the world from a height and keep it there. To be the watcher; invulnerable, detached, complete. My eyes fill with water. Here I am, I think. And I do not think I am safe.

I lost a few who are real special. I lost someone I couldn’t even say good bye to. So know this and know this well — we are here to experience life not “own” anyone.

I looked inward at my heart. And indeed, there too, the criss-cross corsetry was slackened and gaping. I was all undone. Potentially, I could spill. Or tangle. And so I began to tug at my own heartstrings, pulling them up tight until there was just the right amount of tension at each criss and each cross. Then I bent down to my boots and laced them firmly too, first the left, then the right, finishing off on each side with a surgeon's shoelace knot.

I love hard and still haven’t a clue what it feels like…

I loved her in spite of myself. I loved her immeasurably. Infinitely. And I feared that love as much as I feared my own fury at the world.

…I love you,” he said to her, although at that point he was certain she could no longer comprehend the words. “I’d trade places with you in an instant, Mandy Valems… you never deserved this… why would anyone do something so terrible!?” A cold chill froze his heart when he saw her empty eyes again. The fluorescent lights in the dim room sparked to life all of a sudden, brightness so sharp that it startled him. In a flash, sharp and sudden, quicker than a lightning strike, the bulbs flickered and exploded with a few jingling pops.

I may bring other women here, to this place, and I may tell them I love them, and make love to them. But they will be impostors. And I will be a ghost. Because it means I will have lost you. My body, my brain, my lungs, my stomach, my guts, legs, arms will be here but I won't be. I will be out there, looking for you. And if we meet somewhere, at a restaurant, or a party and I'm with someone, I want you to know that they are by my side only because you are not. And she will be beautiful. And I will be laughing and smiling and she will be laughing and smiling, but she will be laughing at a lie. Because all I will have done to that person is lie to them. All I will do to anyone else, forever, from this moment forward, anyone who isn't you, is lie. I have no choice.

I'm crying again. I cry so often now that sometimes I don't even realize it until the tears are already streaming down my cheeks.

I'm glad we didn't know better.

{Miller, who was president of American Federation of Musicians, had this to say about Robert Ingersoll at his funeral} On behalf of 15,000 professional musicians, comprising the American Federation of Musicians, permit me to extend to you our heart-felt and most sincere sympathy in the irreparable loss of the model husband, father, and friend. In him the musicians of not only this country, but of all countries, have lost one whose noble nature grasped the true beauties of our sublime art, and whose intelligence gave those impressions expression in words of glowing eloquence that will live as long as language exists.

I'm in self-imposed exile, cradled between split branches, in my favorite tree in the woods behind school. I've been coming here every day at lunch, hiding out until the bell rings, whittling words into the branches with my pen, allowing my heart to break in private.

I miss you in the maddening noise of crowd, I hear your laughter at my folly with sweet indifference, I miss you like a frozen tear finding its course, I miss you in your presence inside me, I miss you in every breath I take.