Best 80 quotes in «goodbyes quotes» category

That's what people say- 'it's not good-bye' - when they're too afraid to face what they're really feeling. I'm not going to see you tomorrow, Park- I don't know when I'll see you again. That deserves more than 'it's not good-bye.'" "I'm not afraid to face what I'm feeling." he said. "Not you," she said, her voice breaking. "Me.

There's nothing left to say. There's a million things left to say.

The last day is way shorter than counting to ten.

there’s nothing to discuss there’s nothing to remember there’s nothing to forget it’s sad and it’s not sad seems the most sensible thing a person can do is sit with drink in hand as the walls wave their goodbye smiles one comes through it all with a certain amount of efficiency and bravery then leaves some accept the possibility of God to help them get through others take it staight on and to these I drink tonight.

They embraced in parting. There were tears in the merchant’s eyes: “I do not like parting.” “Life consists of partings,” said Arseny. “But you can rejoice more fully in companionship when you remember that.” “But I would (the merchant Vladislav blew his nose) gather up all the good people I’ve met and never let them go.” “I think then they would quickly become mean,” smiled Ambrogio. (p. 238)

There was something at the edge of Silas’s lips that might have been a smile, and might have been regret, and might just have been a trick of the shadows. “Good-bye, then, Silas.” Bod held out his hand, as he had when he was a small boy, and Silas took it, in a cold hand the color of old ivory, and shook it gravely. “Good-bye, Nobody Owens.

We stood, holding each other's faces, memorising every last detail. I was deperate with my own need to capture this last, lingering moment, desperate to forget the horrible sink at the pit of my stomach telling me all this would be lost forever once they pulled the chip out. Please don't let me forget.

This war is going to be full of women who fall in love with men they'll never see again. All we do is say goodbye over and over.

Time travel me back. Let me say good-bye again. A minute more, a moment, a chance to see. . .

Where the cheerful children of unwritten poems, play all around, you will find me there.

Which was just well: goodbyes had never been my strong suit anyway, and lately my life had felt like an unbroken series of them. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

You were the colors to my monochrome life. My morning light and my midnight dream. Flawed, yet whole. You used to think that you weren’t enough – but you were enough for me. You were my first everything. My fire. My tornado. You were the eye of my storm. The moment I saw you, I knew you were going to destroy my life. But I let it happen. There was just something magical and outlandish about playing with fire that I couldn’t resist. I wanted to be as close as I could to the idea of destroying myself. It didn’t happen out of the blue. Day by day – moment by moment, I started to lose myself. With every kiss, you took away a part of me. Until one day, I woke up and I wasn’t myself anymore. I never thought that a disaster could be so damn beautiful. I don’t regret it. But I regret waking up next to an empty bed and how unceremoniously you left when the damage was done. I saw your picture today, holding someone else’s hand. And it made me realize that some disasters don’t make a sound. Not every destruction stands still. Some of them might walk right past you.

a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand; but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon, when I don't know, if you will ever come back.

Also, I suppose I wanted to say goodbye to someone, and have someone say goodbye to me. The goodbyes we speak and the goodbyes we hear are the goodbyes that tell us we're still alive, after all.

Another time, another place.

And I’m left staring out the window, watching District 12 disappear, with all my good-byes still hanging on my lips.

And she kept following the truck, like we were a very small parade, waving and waving, until Frank took the curve in the road and then she was gone.

As long as you loved somebody, each kiss was hope and wonder, but it was also the potential for good-bye.

Bards don’t believe in goodbyes—we know that the roads we walk are winding, and we generally tend to come back to people and places we’ve known and been before, and often at just the right time.” I smiled. “We’ll meet again.

Breathless, I gazed into his eyes. “I love you Ollie. No matter what happens, never forget that. I will always love you. You have a piece of my heart forever.” Beaming at me the tip of his nose touched mine as his forehead rested against my own. “I love you too Layla. You’ve had my heart since the moment you looked up at me from the hallway floor. You always will.

Beso tus ojos y dejo mi corazón en tus manos

Dear heart, Stop being strong and accept that you are never happy with goodbyes.

But..." I'm not ready for you to stop being my problem. "It makes more sense, Park. If you leave soon, you can still get home by dark.: "But if I leave soon..." His voice dropped. "I leave soon." "We have to say good-bye anyway." she said. "Does it matter if it's now or a few hours from now or tomorrow morning?" "Are you kidding?" he looked down at her, hoping he'd miss his turn. "Yes.

Come! Let us make that bargain. Think of me at my best, if circumstances should ever part us!

Death is easy, living difficult.

Goodbyes are not for everlasting bonds. For those who are connected from beyond, their separation will not last Long.

Farewell - though it sounds very tragic - is sometimes the best exit from the hell of unhappiness!

Flynn -I'm glad you ruined me." Her voice stabs my heart, because I recognize that tone. I've heard it before. "Don't start with the good-byes

Goodbye," she said. When I didn't say it back, she rested her hand on the top of my head. The weight was strange and gentle. "I love you," she said. "And when I tell you goodbye, I don't mean forever or for long. Just that I'm going home now, and so are you.

For Sayonara, literally translated, 'Since it must be so,' of all the good-bys I have heard is the most beautiful. Unlike the Auf Wiedershens and Au revoirs, it does not try to cheat itself by any bravado 'Till we meet again,' any sedative to postpone the pain of separation. It does not evade the issue like the sturdy blinking Farewell. Farewell is a father's good-by. It is - 'Go out in the world and do well, my son.' It is encouragement and admonition. It is hope and faith. But it passes over the significance of the moment; of parting it says nothing. It hides its emotion. It says too little. While Good-by ('God be with you') and Adios say too much. They try to bridge the distance, almost to deny it. Good-by is a prayer, a ringing cry. 'You must not go - I cannot bear to have you go! But you shall not go alone, unwatched. God will be with you. God's hand will over you' and even - underneath, hidden, but it is there, incorrigible - 'I will be with you; I will watch you - always.' It is a mother's good-by. But Sayonara says neither too much nor too little. It is a simple acceptance of fact. All understanding of life lies in its limits. All emotion, smoldering, is banked up behind it. But it says nothing. It is really the unspoken good-by, the pressure of a hand, 'Sayonara.

For the first time in my life, I felt the pain of missing people I had not yet left.

Goodbye, sir, & fare well. You’re in the clear.

Good-bye." she said. "Good-bye, Park." "Good-bye, Eleanor. You know, until tonight. When you're going to call me.

He came up and kissed me on my forehead, and before he stepped away, I closed my eyes and tried hard to memorize this moment. I wanted to remember him exactly as he was right then, how his arms looked brown against his white shirt, the way his hair was cut a little too short in the front. Even the bruise, there because of me. Then he was gone. Just for that moment, the thought that I might never see him again… it felt worse than death. I wanted to run after him. Tell him anything, everything. Just don’t go. Please just never go. Please just always be near me, so I can at least see you. Because it felt final. I always believed that we would find our way back to each other every time. That no matter what, we would be connected—by our history, by this house. But this time, this last time, it felt final. Like I would never see him again, or that when I did, it would be different, there would be a mountain between us. I knew it in my bones. That this time was it. I had finally made my choice, and so had he. He let me go. I was relieved, which I expected. What I didn’t expect was to feel so much grief. Bye bye, Birdie.

I’d been prepared for the goodbyes—as prepared as anyone could be, I guess—but I wasn’t at all prepared for a hello.

I can’t pray or weigh my words right; doomsday is here my friend, but you’re immune. We suffer for you. I’m weaving crowns of sonnets, dreads; a souvenir so you’ll never forget your friends.

I couldn’t make myself move from the bed. To reach for you. I’d known this moment was coming, and now that it had arrived I found I had no strength in my limbs. Only my voice. Only words. Asking you to stay.

He still had his eyes on me, and it occurred to me that he was thinking the same thing as I was; that I was very underdressed to be here. I needed to leave, and quickly. But I didn't know how to say goodbye...

He wasn't much cut out for serious conversations. And a goodbye is a serious conversation.

If I were married, I would be unmarried.

I don’t say goodbye unless I think it’s final.

I don't know how you say good-bye to whom and what you love. I don't know a painless way to do it, don't know the words to capture a heart so full and a longing so intense.

I drag the body out into the snowdrifts, as far away from our shack as I can muster. I put her in a thicket of trees, where the green seems to still have a voice in the branches, and try not to think about the beasts that’ll soon be gathering. There’s no way of burying her; the ground is a solid rock of ice beneath us. I kneel beside her and want desperately to weep. My throat tightens and my head aches. Everything hurts inside. But I have no way of releasing it. I’m locked up and hard as stone. “I’m sorry, Mamma,” I whisper to the shell in front of me. I take her hand. It could belong to a glass doll. There’s no life there anymore. So I gather rocks, one by one, and set them over her, trying my best to protect her from the birds, the beasts, keep her safe as much as I can now. I pile the dark stones gently on her stomach, her arms, and over her face, until she becomes one with the mountain. I stand and study my work, feeling like the rocks are on me instead, then I leave the body for the forest and ice.

I feel like a man standing at the mouth of an old mine-shaft that is full of cave-ins waiting to happen, standing there and saying goodbye to the daylight.

In certain moments without even realizing or informing we transformed one another" We are nothing but the imprints of everyone ever walked or stayed in our lives in whatever capacity it may be, sometimes we become actors playing parts in another person’s play & other times the roles gets reversed, characters come and go as the story moves on, we might categorize it as good or bad but it all adds-up to making of us. Always carry good memories of those connections cause bad ones are too heavy to be carried towards a new life.

I have never been good at saying goodbyes to people. What else can they offer rather than a reciprocal desolation?

I just can't believe that life would give us to each other," he said, "and then take it back." "I can," she said. "Life's a bastard." He held her tighter, and pushed his face into her neck. "But it's up to us..." he said softly. "It's up to us not to lose this.

I'll be back," she said. "Very soon." He needed to reply. He needed to say Good, come back; better, Don't go; or better still, I'll join you. He wanted to say, Your neck is beautiful. He wanted to say, I never ever thought my life would hold this, and if your leaving is what I must give for what I was given, then it was worth it. But the children were all around and Mr Abasi was calling out and motioning for her to come, and anyway, he knew now, if he hadn't known before, that there were limitations to words - words in the air or on a page.

I'll tell you, that's one thing I hate about my nickname, the way the number runs on forever. It's important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let it go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said, but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse. That bungled goodbye hurts me to this day.

În clipa aceea nu-i era rușine că-l iubea, pentru că dorința ei era moartă și simțea pentru el numai milă și o tandrețe profundă, aproape maternă. Se strădui să zâmbească. -Ca mame chinezoaică care își trimite fiul la război recomandându-i prudență (pentru că războiul nu este lipsit de pericole), vă rog, în amintirea mea, să vă menajați pe cât posibil viața. -Înseamnă mult pentru dumneata? întreabă el neliniștit. -Da. Înseamnă mult pentru mine.