Best 4819 quotes in «loss quotes» category

As a young girl I was told the truth. I knew about death. I was afraid to lose but not afraid to die.

As children inch their way into adolescence, the parent changes. He is an authority, a source of answers, and a chastising voice. Depending on the day, he may be resented, emulated, questioned, or defied. Only as an adult can a child imagine his parent as a whole person, as a husband, a brother, or a son. Only then can a child see how his parent fits into the world beyond four walls. Saleem had only bits and pieces of his father, mostly the memories of a young boy. He would spend the rest of his life, he knew, trying to reconstruct his father with the scraps he could recall or gather from his mother.

A sense of curiosity and child-like wonderment is the antagonist to death and loss

As her photo burned, I thought: even oblivion is a kindness.

As I child, I came to this idea with a horrified fascination. Once upon a time, I wasn’t here. Before that, my parents weren’t here. And before that…

As if sorrow is the true reality? Without ever putting his mind to it, he's come to believe that loss is the standard trajectory.

As I drive home, I picture other signs- one for everyone who has a secret. Bill Corso's would say, I CAN'T READ, BUT I CAN THROW A FOOTBALL. Mr. Shunk's would read, I WISH I COULD TOSS YOU ALL ON AN ISLAND BY YOURSELVES. Dad's would read, I HATE MYSELF FOR NO GOOD REASON. My Idea grows.

Aside from myself, there was no sign of me.

As I load my shirt into the washer for the night, I daydream about making a sign and hanging it around my neck. It could read, I MISS CHARLIE KHAN. As I drive home, I picture other signs- one for everyone who has a secret. Bill Coro's would say, I CAN'T READ, BUT I CAN THROW A FOOTBALL. Me. Shunk's would read, I WISH I COULD TOSS YOU ALL ON AN ISLAND BY YOURSELVES. Dad's would read, I HATE MYSELF FOR NO GOOD REASON.

As I load my shirt into the washer for the night, I daydream about making a sign and hanging it around my neck. I could wear it to school tomorrow. It could read, I MISS CHARLIE KHAN.

As I was wheeled into the operating room I pleaded with God for one more day, one more week, one more month with her.

A small profit it better than a big loss

A spectacularly foolish and baseless faith, against enormous odds, that a world you do not control will not take from you the one thing you cannot bare to lose.

As soon as [Patricia Highsmith] had stopped work, she felt purposeless and quite at a loss about what to do with herself. 'There is no real life except in working,' she wrote in her notebook, 'that is to say in the imagination.' It was in this state that she observed that only one situation would drive her to commit murder - being part of a family unit. Most likely, she thought, she would strike out in anger at a small child, felling them in one blow. But children over the age of eight, she surmised, would probably take two blows to kill. The reality of socialising with anyone, no matter how close, she said, left her feeling fatigued.

As the days dwindled towards the end of the week I knew only one thing: I couldn't return to our old life. Haroon had taken Honour and Al with him,

A star's light still shines even if there's no one to see it, but without someone to remember Jesse, his light will disappear.

As the fresh air brought warm blood to my cheeks, I realised that I had lived through a kind of death. I was alive. I would continue to live. But time and my mother were gone, and my life would now be defined, not by their absence, but by their absolute and irrevocable loss.

As their figures recede, it strikes Filsan as ironic that they had delayed fleeing so they could take as many of their possessions as possible, but now those very possessions prevent their flight.

As the song goes, 'You are lost and gone forever, oh my darling, Valentine.'" [...] I’m listening to someone give up. Someone I knew. Someone I liked. I’m listening. But still, I’m too late.

As the sky faded to night, her anger dissipated—but not in a healing way, just dulled, like forged iron sizzling in a cold pail of water.

A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past. Life had come between them.... His eyes darkened, and the crowded, flaring streets became blurred to his eyes. When the cab drew up at the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older.

As we grow up, nothing changes more than the definition of loss.

As when we can recall so vividly We almost touch, Or think of all the gestures that we failed To make.

A sword held in vengeance only leads to grief.

At first I thought he was laughing because his shoulders were shaking, but then he put his palms on his eyes and I realized he was crying. It was the quietest crying I've ever heard. Like a whisper. I was going to go over to him, but then I thought maybe he was whisper-crying because he didn't want me or anyone else to hear him.

At her lowest point she found her greatest strength. Not because she alone was strong, but because she held onto faith with all her might

A timeless energy encircles the world, drawing humanity into its grasp, eternally swirling, pulling souls together, tearing them apart in the eternal struggle of love, life and loss...

At one point, she said after a while, at one point we thought we might raise silkworms in one of the empty rooms. But then we never did. Oh, for the countless things one fails to do!

At the edge you will always remember me, at the edge you will last be remembered, where sanity and insanity come together, for the time, then separates. Like leaves on October trees, that color the world, but for a moment, then leave. At the edge, where life losses its edginess, and thoughts we will become one, someday. At the edge the sun drops, the ring falls, and senses of raindrops climb upwards to the gray sky.

At the core of this grief is our longing to belong. This longing is wired into us by necessity. It assures our safety and our ability to extend out into the world with confidence. This feeling of belonging is rooted in the village and, at times, in extended families. It was in this setting that we emerged as a species. It was in this setting that what we require to become fully human was established. Jean Liedloff writes, "the design of each individual was a reflection of the experience it expected to encounter." We are designed to receive touch, to hear sounds and words entering our ears that soothe and comfort. We are shaped for closeness and for intimacy with our surroundings. Our profound feelings of lacking something are not reflection of personal failure, but the reflection of a society that has failed to offer us what we were designed to expect. Liedloff concludes, "what was once man's confident expectations for suitable treatment and surroundings is now so frustrated that a person often thinks himself lucky if he is not actually homeless or in pain. But even as he is saying, 'I am all right,' there is in him a sense of loss, a longing for something he cannot name, a feeling of being off-center, of missing something. Asked point blank, he will seldom deny it.

At the end of your life, go out with a bruised-up, worn out heart that gave too much and loved too strongly and felt too fiercely.

At the same moment a cold chill traced a finger down the middle of my back. Sometimes things come back to you, that's all. Sometimes they come back.

At the graveyard there was no hope, so there was nothing to lose and no chance for disappointment.

At times, it felt so odd being with a man in such an intimate way who was not my husband.

A volte la vita ci dà una mano, ma non è sempre la mano migliore e sono certo che Dio farà del suo meglio per aiutarla, se può, ma se è suo destino andare da Lui, allora è lì che deve stare.

After Years Today, from a distance, I saw you walking away, and without a sound the glittering face of a glacier slid into the sea. An ancient oak fell in the Cumberlands, holding only a handful of leaves, and an old woman scattering corn to her chickens looked up for an instant. At the other side of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times the size of our own sun exploded and vanished, leaving a small green spot on the astronomer's retina as he stood on the great open dome of my heart with no one to tell.

A woman in Charlotte approached me and said that she’s tired of the dysfunction in my novels. I told her I was sorry, but that is how the world has presented itself to me throughout my life.

Babamı kaybetmenin ne demek olduğunu, uzunca bir süre sonra, ta ki artık beni başının üstüne alıp evin içinde koşarak turlayacak biri olmadığını, korkmayayım diye yanımda uyumamı beklerken gecenin bir vaktine rağmen gözlerimin cin gibi açık olmasından bıkkınlık gelip beni ağlayana ve uyuyacağıma yemin ettirene kadar gıdıklayan biri olmadığını... Artık annemin kesintisiz olarak asık suratlı bir kadın olacağını, ya da ben henüz sekiz yaşımda olmama rağmen, gece oyuncak ayıma sarılmış uyumaya çalışırken, yatağıma benden başka birinin daha süzülmeye çalıştığını fark edip, ona döndüğümde annem olduğunu anladığımda ve “Neden buradasın anne?” diye sorduğumda, hiç utanmadan “Korkuyorum, birlikte yatalım” diyeceği zamana kadar. Gecenin o en derin sessizliği sıralarında, kalbimi yerinden çıkaran ayak seslerinin kapının kilitli olup olmadığını yatağından kalkıp en az yirmi kez kontrol etmek zorunda olan annemin olacağını fark edene ve ben bütün bunların, evimize yabancı bir adam geleceği güne, ta ki iki sene sonrasına dek devam etmek zorunda olduğunu fark edene kadar... Anlayamamıştım. Henüz bilmiyordum ne demek olduğunu.

Baby, don't build a monument for me of your sadness. You wouldn't have wasted your tears when I was alive. Why make an ocean of them now when it's over? The future you dreamed is a dream. Dream something else.

Back then I gave up on Ruo Xi because of power, abandoned the vows we made to never leave each other. Now imperial brother, for the Qing Empire, and the past grievances has also given up the chance to be together forever. You’re the same as me. The things you once had are all gone in the end. With Ruo Xi, you’re the same as me. A failure. -8th Prince

Baby girl Wake up and Worry a little less today Be brave and strong Open the doors and receive All the light Let the rays of sunshine come in

Each Moment a White Bull Steps Shining into the World If the gods bring to you a strange and frightening creature, accept the gift as if it were one you had chosen. Say the accustomed prayers, oil the hooves well, caress the small ears with praise. Have the new halter of woven silver embedded with jewels. Spare no expense, pay what is asked, when a gift arrives from the sea. Treat it as you yourself would be treated, brought speechless and naked into the court of a king. And when the request finally comes, do not hesitate even an instant---- stroke the white throat, the heavy trembling dewlaps you'd come to believe were yours, and plunge in the knife. Not once did you enter the pasture without pause, without yourself trembling, that you came to love it, that was the gift. Let the envious gods take back what they can.

Because, George thought as she sat there with her eyes closed back before Christmas in Mrs Rock's self-consciously comfortable chair in the counselling office, how can it be that there's an advert on TV with dancing bananas unpeeling themselves in it and teabags doing a dance, and her mother will never see that advert? How can that advert exist and her mother not exist in the world? She didn't say it out loud, though, because there wasn't a point. It isn't about saying. It is about the hole which will form in the roof through which the cold will intensify and after which the structure of the house will begin to shift, like it ought, and through which George will be able to lie every night in bed watching the black sky.

Be careful how close you get to someone... It just ends up hurting more than not having no one to love to begin with.

Because Dad told you he'd be here forever. Because I thought forever was like Mars -- far away.

...because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.

Because it isn’t a loss; just a little piece of their haven had broken off. People can patch things; it still may hurt, but that’s life.

Because of Jesus, we can walk the path of loss knowing He is always in front, lighting the way.

Because this is how the world ends: not in the falling incendiaries of an aerial attack, not in a storm of toy soldiers laying waste to the gods who brought them into being, but in the banal letters of a bank. Where once was magic: now only economics.

Because we had known the good times, I think my brother and I felt the loss more acutely. My father's waning presence, his chronic absence, his disappearance. Now he was just a memory.