Best 4819 quotes in «loss quotes» category

Petra, people tell me that I will 'move on' and I can't believe it. But if it ever does happen, and I forget to feel this pressing absence of you, if I make it through a meaningless party and don't remember to hate everyone for their peaceful lives until the morning, please know that I am already sorry. I am going to try to be brave like you asked me to, but I don't have any idea yet what that means. Is it braver to allow the sadness of your leaving to spread into each of my bones until it is as big as you were to me? Or is it braver to let you drift out into what may very well be a brighter, finer place than this and be happy to think of your joy there? I hope, Petra, that I get it right.

photographs are very interesting, and you can look into them a million times and still find a new meaning in them, something in the past that was caught in the film itself…

Please don't trivialize my loss by making excuses for my failures or comparing me to someone who never had what I have lost. It compounds my distress and discounts what I once was without even allowing me the opportunity to express my grief. Though entirely unintentional, it adds insult to injury.

Please remind them that none of us have all the time we think we have in this troubled but still beautiful world.

Politics is an alternative to war and if you're in it, you live it as such. You win some & you lose at times.

Postoji jedna tajna koja se ne zna unapred: uvek se dobija više nego što se daje - ali kad bi se to znalo unapred, ne bi se dobilo ništa.

Power is a fickle mistress, easy to seduce, but even easier to lose. That's how it works. One moment she is your closest confidant, whispering the secrets of the universe into your ear; the next, she is your vilest oppressor—and once her ears close to your plights you are well and truly screwed.

Pray, hum, and give a ferocious hug to the ones you love most. You never know when you might want that hug with all your soul, and not be able to give it or get it.

Price of peace could only be valued by people who had suffered loss in the war.

Process the loss.” I so dislike this term. Chop, dice, slice, Julienne, process your feelings, drives, memories, losses – as though at the end of the process out pops a shiny psyche as clean and crisp as a 5-star entrée.

Proud houses fall into decline and great cities pass into ruin. The stories of those things are lost to forgotten languages and moth-eaten scrolls. Vine and root grapple with the rune carved in stone, and rust carries away, fleck by fleck, the great gates of iron.

Psychoanalysis is often about turning our ghosts into ancestors, even for patients who have not lost loved ones to death. We are often haunted by important relationships from the past that influence us unconsciously in the present. As we work them through, they go from haunting us to becoming simply part of our history.

«Quando rischi di morire, pensi alle occasioni perdute.» Ecco; io ero l’occasione che non si era lasciato sfuggire.

Que l'on soit absent dans la pièce voisine, ou sur l'autre versant de la planète, la différence n'est pas essentielle. La présence de l'ami qui en apparence s'est éloigné, peut se faire plus dense qu'une présence réelle.

Quentin quieted and watched her for a moment, hungrily, like he was trying to memorize every detail. Maybe he was. Forever is a long time. You have to burn the edges of memory onto your heart, or they can fade, and sometimes the second loss is worse than the first one.

Quando poi abbraccia me, vorrei lasciarmi andare e crollare. Piangere, come quando avevo otto anni e mi ruppi la caviglia. Invece no. Ci teniamo stretti più a lungo del solito e facciamo fatica a staccarci.

Rasa kehilangan itu wajar. Tapi percaya deh, semuanya akan baik-baik aja. Suatu hari, lo akan bangun dan nggak merasakan apa-apa. Semua beban dari masa lalu lo, rasa sedih ini, puff! hilang begitu saja. Dan saat itu, lo akan lebih ikhlas menjalani semuanya, karena lo udah menerima bahwa kenyataan nggak bisa diubah.

Rather often I am asked whether the grief remains as intense as when I wrote. The answer is, No. The wound is no longer raw. But it has not disappeared. That is as it should be. If he was worth loving, he is worth grieving over. Grief is existential testimony to the worth of the one loved. That worth abides. So I own my grief. I do not try to put it behind me, to get over it, to forget it… Every lament is a love-song.

Ravaged all, Bogo tabal Timore toron Totoo now gone...

Raw anguish slithers through my brittle bones as the deathly call rots the air. Who murdered you old friend? The forest has no words to identify the hand, only erratic echo.

Realizing its inescapable nature, we can see heartbreak not as the end of the road or the cessation of hope but as the close embrace of the essence of what we have wanted or are about to lose. […] Heartbreak asks us not to look for an alternative path, because there is no alternative path. It is an introduction to what we love and have loved, an inescapable and often beautiful question, something and someone that has been with us all along, asking us to be ready for the ultimate letting go.

Rebuilding is something that is practically difficult than starting over from nothing.

Recovery unfolds in three stages. The central task of the first stage is the establishment of safety. The central task of the second stage is remembrance and mourning. The central focus of the third stage is reconnection with ordinary life.

Recalling this now, I can tell only the husk of the story--a story known inwardly only by those who have experienced such a loss, which we'd wish for no one else to suffer. Those who have not often say, "I can't imagine how you felt, what that was like." I can hardly imagine it either, even having lived through it. Recently, when someone said that, I found myself answering, "Like being burned alive.

Regrettable was the gallantry of great men who risked themselves for others.

Recognize those times when it's best to do nothing. The weeks and months following a significant loss, including death, divorce, or the incapacitation of a loved one, are fraught with emotions. We typically do not make our best decisions under circumstances such as these. **Avoid the inclination to immediately put your house on the market** cash in all your savings, and move to the south of France, or trust the first person who comes along who says he or she can give you all the help you need.

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Rejection is one of the worse forms of pain. Loss is the worst. Grief haunts until you allow yourself to move on.

Relationships are like walls painted off-white and every time you’ll hurt me, it will be like resting dirty shoes on them, like bashing holes in the walls, one after the other. And then there will come a day, where the walls will be filled with so many holes, that there wouldn’t be any place left for you to place the tiniest kiss. Only then will I walk away for good.

Respect your grief. For, if there is a wall within you that needs mending. It will mend it. --- Grief

Remember to view yourself and your humanness with a kind heart.

Repression. Her therapist, Dr. Solomon, loved the word. He'd say it slowly, letting it roll off his tongue. Sometimes he'd add a chin stroke for good measure. He always looked pleased when he did this, like he'd discovered the Caramilk secret or something.

Revenge itself may indeed be the best revenge, but slaying one's enemy does not give back what they stole.

Remember: God's grief at the unspeakable things we do to one another is beyond measuring, but so is His mercy. It might seem a terrible thing to say to people who've lost and suffered so much at the hands of hatred and violence. But true courage is not to hate our enemy, any more than to fight and kill him. To love him, to love in the teeth of his hate—that is real bravery. That ought to earn people m-m-medals.

Restlessness is usually a sign of changes needing to be made, boredom, or loss of significance.

Ritual is able to hold the long-discarded shards of our stories and make them whole again. It has the strength and elasticity to contain what we cannot contain on our own, what we cannot face in solitude.

Riley's sway as he disappeared down the alley, I recognized it. It wasn't booze. It was the thing that happened when a little too much got a little too messed up. They sway, it's what creeps over a person when they've begun to empty out and don't care enough to put anything back, to replace what has been lost.

Rob; you could have been someone I wanted to be with. But you’re not; you never spoke to Niall, not really. You joked and you danced, but how often did you really talk? You never even told him you loved him until it was already too late. What was he to you? A friend? A lover? Or was he just some set piece in Rob Sardan’s great story? Is that what everyone is to you? Can’t we have our own story?

Respect your needs and limitations as you work through your grief and begin to heal

Saa kan hver Fornuftig vel dømme ved sig, Naar Mennisker friske maa legges i Liig; Hvad Ynk da maa være paa færde! En Broder ey anden at frelse formaar, Den stercke, den svage, har ligedan Kaar, Dem hielper ey Læg eller Lærde.

Sad, slow music in the small hours of the morning isn't just sad and slow music. It's a narration. And through the myriad of morning dew, we are the twinkling stars that fade with the rising sun.

Saeed prayed a great deal, and so did his father, and so did their guests, and some of them wept, but Saeed had wept only once, when he first saw his mother's corpse and screamed, and Saeed's father wept only when he was alone in his room, silently, without tears, his body seized as though by a stutter, or a shiver, that would not let go, for his sense of loss was boundless, and his sense of the benevolence of the universe was shaken, and his wife had been his best friend.

Sarah shifted on the bench. I worried she was winding up to say something, that Sky would start humming now, that the fright spring-coiled inside me would break loose. Then I remembered the widow dress I was wearing. I made a sound with my lips like I was trying to give him an answer, but choking on the words, seized by my grief, and I didn't have to pretend that much. I felt sorrow for my life, for what I'd lived and seen and known, for what was lost to me, and the weeping turned real.

Sacrifice by its strictest definition takes something precious in exchange for the appeasement of a higher power. And abiding devotion to a cause that cannot be satisfied with a simple promise. Because an oath no matter how solemn asks nothing in return. While true sacrifice demands unspeakable loss.

Sadness grieves the spirit. But sorrow refines soul.

sadness is one of the faces of love

Sadness is a grieve spirit.

Sarah, though, was still sometimes ruled by stark pain, lost to everything else. Grief slipped away, only to attack from behind. It changed shape endlessly. It lacerated her, numbed her, stalked her, startled her, caught her by the throat. It deceived her eye with glimpses of Charles, her ear with the sound of his voice. She would turn and turn, expecting him, and find him gone. Again. Each time Sarah escaped her sorrow, forgetful amid other things, she lost him anew the instant she remembered he was gone.

Scars prove that you're still here. That you can move on. Maybe missing a chunk of yourself, but here, goddamn it, surviving.

Saying goodbye to someone you love isn’t really the hard part. It’s living every day, not being able to say anything to them at all.