Welcome to our collection of Loss quotes. Loss is an inevitable part of life that can bring forth a whirlwind of emotions and experiences. It is during these times of loss that we often find ourselves searching for solace, comfort, and meaning. Whether it be the loss of a loved one, a relationship, a job, or any other form of loss, the emotions that accompany it can be overwhelming.
The quotes in this category offer words of wisdom, empathy, and support for those who have experienced loss. They provide insights into the process of grief and healing, and remind us that we are not alone in our pain. Loss quotes also serve as a reminder to cherish the memories we have, to find strength in our vulnerability, and to embrace the journey of healing and self-discovery.
From renowned authors, philosophers, and thinkers to individuals who have experienced their own personal losses, the quotes in this collection reflect a range of perspectives on coping with loss. Whether you are seeking comfort, inspiration, or a deeper understanding of the human experience, we hope that these Loss quotes resonate with you and provide some solace as you navigate through your own journey of healing and growth.
Feel free to explore this category and take your time to reflect on the profound insights shared by these individuals. Remember that grief is a deeply personal experience, and there is no right or wrong way to process it. These quotes are here to accompany you on your journey and remind you that healing is possible, even in the face of profound loss.
Night is falling. The gods have left us for those who please them better. Our time in the world is passed, and we are as wasted as the wind against the mountains. Shadows are falling, the gods have left us.
The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine. "In return for the odor of my jasmine, I'd like all the odor of your roses." "I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead." "Well then, I'll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain." the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?
Late one afternoon when returning from town we were met by a few women and children who told us that Mexican troops from some other town had attacked our camp, killed all the warriors of the guard, captured all our ponies, secured our arms, destroyed our supplies, and killed many of our women and children.. when all were counted, I found that my aged mother, my young wife, and my three small children were among the slain.
At this time when I turn 50, because so there's many of my friends and family who didn't get to see 50-years-old, and so, I'm celebrating for them too.
It's easier to forget the past if nothing ever reminds you of those leathery old scars that can never again feel any loss or pain; the old wounds must be kept open if you are going to remember their cause and regret their occurrence.
There's a spectrum of those moments of connection and the moments we fail to connect, going from super-large successes to failures. Success would be love, I guess, and failure could still be love, but the bad side; and loss.
After my parents passed away - in 2000 and 2003 - I felt I could take the time to think about the past and imagine what it would have been like to be my grandmother.
Later, her first intense, serious love affair, yes then she'd lost something more tangible, if undefinable: her heart? her independence? her control of, definition of, self? That first true loss, the furious bafflement of it. And never again quite so assured, confident.
After my husband died, I could not write much - I could not concentrate. I was too exhausted most of the time even to contemplate writing. But I did take notes - not for fiction, but for a journal, or diary, of this terrible time. I did not think that I would ever survive this interlude.
If I try to summon back his face, the sound of his voice, and the sensation in my stomach like a key turning in a lock when he touched me, I lose everything.
