His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.
Ernest HemingwayTag: life age flight loss nostalgia
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
Edna St. Vincent MillayTag: loss loneliness yearning
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Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.
Cormac McCarthyTag: past man world nature loss environment wonder fish creation earth allegory brooks destruction glens maps mystery parable trout
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
William ShakespeareTag: words loss sadness sorrow mourning grief bereavement
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What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or in the holy name of liberty or democracy?
Mahatma GandhiTag: politics liberty society war democracy loss totalitarianism fascism
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If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
Emily BrontëAt the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.
Arthur GoldenIf you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?
Jodi PicoultHow could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury?
Jodi PicoultTag: love loss death heart mourning bereavement casket funeral
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When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.
John IrvingPagina 1 di 80.
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