649 Loss Quotes

If they had said that the sun or the moon had gone out of the heavens, it could not have struck me with the idea of a more awful and dreary blank in creation than the words: 'Byron is dead!'

His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.

I have always had plenty of friends, and now at age sixty, I face four walls as a common prisoner.

Holy shadows of the dead, I'm not to blame for your cruel and bitter fate, but the accursed rivalry which brought sister nations and brother people, to fight one another. I do not feel happy for this victory of mine. On the contrary, I would be glad, brothers, if I had all of you standing here next to me, since we are united by the same language, the same blood and the same visions.

Now that I'm out and I'm shouting in doorways Freed from a love more like murder I should be singing but in liberation Feel like a ship with no rudder.

So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore.

My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright, With foggy gloom is clouded o'er My gay green leaves are yellow-black, Upon the dank autumnal floor; For love, departed once, comes back No more again, no more.

Dance on, dance on, we see, we see Youth goes, alack, and with it glee, A boy the old man ne'er can be; Maternal thirty scarce can find The sweet sixteen long left behind.

Victory is for them, not for us. We have not made profit out of our country's misfortune. Victory does not bring us luck.

If you don't win, it's not a great tragedy - the worst that happens is that you lose a game.

If the angels are unkind or the season is dark Or if in the end Love just falls apart Well then here's to our destruction Baby let me be your soul driver.

What we conceal Is always more than what we dare confide. Think of the letters that we write our dead.

The majority of my symphonies are tombstones.

When you can't have anything else, you can have virtue.

The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone!

The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood This Eastertide call into mind the men, Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should Have gathered them and will do never again.

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss.

If I am what I have and if I lose what I have who then am I?

The only way to prove that you're a good sport is to lose.

They say that each generation inherits from those that have gone before; if this were so there would be no limit to man's improvements or to his power of reaching perfection. But he is very far from receiving intact that storehouse of knowledge which the centuries have piled up before him; he may perfect some inventions, but in others, he lags behind the originators, and a great many inventions have been lost entirely. What he gains on the one hand, he loses on the other.

Religions get lost as people do.

For of fortunes sharp adversitee The worst kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.

Before the flowers of friendship faded friendship faded.

War is never fatal but always lost. Always lost.

I left Cuba when I was two years old. They took away my country, they stole the most intimate thing a human being can have. How could I forget that Fidel Castro was the person who did me so much harm?

You see, I have no real complaints of how you've left your past behind I guess what gets me worried is you've erased him from your mind.

So far as the personal side is concerned, the victory was to him who lost and the defeat to him who won. I can say that never in the last fifteen years have I had the peace of mind that I have since the election. I have almost a feeling of elation.

You will expect me to discuss the late election. Well, as nearly as I can learn, we did not have enough votes on our side.

It's like having a pet dog for a long time. You get attached to it, and when it dies you miss it.

The time I burned my guitar it was like a sacrifice. You sacrifice the things you love. I love my guitar.

There are times in politics when you must be on the right side and lose.

The techniques of opening conversation are universal. I knew long ago and rediscovered that the best way to attract attention, help, and conversation is to be lost. A man who seeing his mother starving to death on a path kicks her in the stomach to clear the way, will cheerfully devote several hours of his time giving wrong directions to a total stranger who claims to be lost.

You ready to command a fleet? I don't know. It depends on whether they want to win. Here's the thing, Bean. Soldiers don't like to lose And that is why losing is a much more powerful teacher than winning.

There's nothing between them anymore. I could see it fall, the last tie of love or even of concern. If he died tonight, she would be content. to Luet this seemed the most terrible of tragedies. Once these two had been joined together in love, or something like love... And yet the last tie between them was broken now. All lost, all gone. Nothing lasted, nothing.

Some memories don't fade, some physical memories are forever. The feel of your fathers hand, the sound of your mothers voice. Only, father's hand was smaller now. No, Ivan's was larger, but to him, it was his father who had shrunk, who no longer had the power of the giant, of the god, to enfold him and keep him safe.

Rage at the death of his daughter and all the things that had gone wrong and the people who had screwed up. He needed to kill somebody, to tear them apart, only there wasn't anybody to kill.

They were gnawed within by the grief of knowing that this greatest gift of all gifts was forever out of their reach.

So there he was with... No career, and, to put it candidly, no life. It was as if he had been running a long, long race and finally realized that there was nobody else in it with him, he had crossed the finish line years ago and didn't notice it because not a soul was there to cheek for him and clap him on the back and say 'Good run... Good run!' Or come to think of it, maybe they were there, only [he] himself didn't care what they thought of him and so he sloughed off their praise and their friendship because he was waiting for the one voice he'd never hear again.

He felt sick with the sense of loss. What have I been doing all these years? How stupid can a reasonably bright guy be?

He felt something touch him, warm and deep, like a candle burst inside his heart. Like a soft breath of joy that swept through him, and he looked up to ask her what it was she did to him, how she could give him such a gift of life. But she was gone.

Why she had to go I don't know, she wouldn't say I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.

Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play Now I need a place to hide away. Oh, I believe in yesterday.

I got a call from my broker. The broker informed me I'm broke. I was dealing my last hand of poker. My cards were useless as smoke.

The body is placed under the earth, and after a certain period there remains no vestige even of its form. This is that contemplation of inexhaustible melancholy, whose shadow eclipses the brightness of the world. The common observer is struck with dejection of the spectacle. He contends in vain against the persuasion of the grave, that the dead indeed cease to be. The corpse at his feet is prophetic of his own destiny. Those who have preceded him, and whose voice was delightful to his ear; whose touch met his like sweet and subtle fire: whose aspect spread a visionary light upon his path - these he cannot meet again.

I weep for Adonais - he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

'Cause I'm gonna lose you. Yes, I'm gonna lose you. If I'm gonna lose you. I'll lose you now for good. ~ 'Lose You'

And you think you know that they'll always be there. You never had the time. I want you to be fine. ~ 'Burrito'

Tragically I was an only twin.

After years of entrenched drug abuse, you have a mourning period. I know it's a bit sad, but I'm in mourning. I'm in mourning for an armful.

I grieve for you You leave me So hard to move on Still loving what's gone They say life carries on Carries on and on and on and on...

Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko Yihla Moja, Yihla Moja - The man is dead.

I was taught to fight, taught to win I never thought I could fail no fight left or so it seems I am a man whose dreams have all deserted I've changed my face, I've changed my name but no one wants you when you lose.

On a peine a hair ce qu'on a bien aime, Et le feu mal eteint est bientot rallume.

Io ho conquistato all'Italia un impero e Mussolini l'ha buttato via.

Du im Voraus verlorne Geliebte, Nimmergekommene, nicht wei? ich, welche Tone dir lieb sind. Nicht mehr versuch ich, dich, wenn das Kommende wogt, zu erkennen.

For every thing you have missed, you have gained something else; and for every thing you gain, you lose something.

I wiped away the weeds and foam, And fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

He was my brother and I loved him a great deal. It was just an awful, awful mistake. We fed off each other and learned a lot from each other.

But, oh! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early.

For a' that, and a' that An' twice as muckle 's a' that, I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that.

Our brave young men are dying in the swamps of Southeast Asia. Which of them might have written a poem? Which of them might have cured cancer? Which of them might have played in a World Series or given us the gift of laughter from the stage or helped build a bridge or a university? Which of them would have taught a child to read? It is our responsibility to let these men live....It is indecent if they die because of the empty vanity of their country. (Vietnam War speech, Calif, 3-24-68)

That night when he went back to his hotel, he wept for his dead children and all the other castrated boys, for his own lost youth, for those who were young no longer and those who died young, for those who fought for Salvador Allende and those who were too scared to fight.

The extraordinary patience of things! This beautiful place defaced with a crop of suburban houses - How beautiful when we first beheld it, Unbroken field of poppy and lupin walled with clean cliffs; No intrusion but two or three horses pasturing...

It's always sad to lose someone who has led a nation and we want to express our best wishes and sincere condolences.

We now talk of our killed and wounded. There is however a very happy feeling. Those who escape regret of course the loss of comrades and friends, but their own escape and safety to some extent modifies their feelings.

I felt ill at ease with all this air about me, lost before the confusion of innumerable prospects.

His [David Garrick's] death has eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and impoverished the public stock of harmless pleasure.

Tell him I lingered alone on the shore, Where we parted, in sorrow, to meet nevermore; The night-wind blew cold on my desolate heart But colder those wild words of doom,-'Ye must part.'

Raven from the dim dominions On the Night's Plutonian shore, Oft I hear thy dusky pinions Wave and flutter round my door- See the shadow of thy pinions Float along the moonlit floor.

This could destroy Roman. Marriage vows mean nothing to him but few men have adored a woman as much as he adored Sharon.

Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay.

Nearly anyone in this line of work would take a bullet for the last pregnant dodo. But should we not admire the person who, when faced with an overwhelmingly sad reality beyond and personal blame or control, strives valiantly to rescue whatever can be salvaged, rather than retreating to the nearest corner to weep or assign fault?

This I have seen in life-those who are overcautious about themselves fall into dangers at every step; those who are afraid of losing honor and respect, get only disgrace; and those who are always afraid of loss, always lose.

No death outside my immediate family has left me feeling more bereft. No death in my lifetime has hurt poets more. He was a tower of tenderness and strength, a great arch under which the least of poetry's children could enter and feel secure. His creative powers were, as Shakespeare said, still crescent. By his death, the veil of poetry is rent and the walls of learning broken.

No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred; Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. A favourite has no friend!

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

With all, the beautiful things of the earth become more dear as they elude pursuit; but with some natures utter elusion is the one special event which will make a passing love permanent for ever.

Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now you are not as you were When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair.

Our men fought bravely, but the enemy repulsed me. Many valuable lives were lost. Our God was my shield. His protecting care is an additional cause for gratitude.

Tried myself in the school of affliction, by the loss of every form of connection which can rive the human heart, I know well, and feel what you have lost, what you have suffered, are suffering, and have yet to endure. The same trials have taught me that for ills so immeasurable, time and silence are the only medicines. I will not, therefore, by useless condolences, open afresh the sluices of your grief, nor, although mingling sincerely my tears with yours, will I say a word more where words are vain.

The harp that once through Tara's Hall The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's wall As if that soul were fled.

Oh! ever thus from childhood's hour I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nurst a dear gazelle To glad me with its soft black eye But when it came to know me well And love me it was sure to die!

I remember feeling this way, you can lose it without knowing. You wake up one day and you don't notice which way the wind is blowing.

And I don't want to question or even celebrate all the joy you took and then gave back too late.

I'd had enough. I felt so low: I was 26 and there was an exact moment when I just knew I didn't want to do it any more. I was out with two very good friends of mine, who are now dead. They both died of alcoholism. It was about 3am and I thought: 'I don't want this. I have to stop.' I'd felt that before, a hundred times, but I woke up next morning and I still didn't want to do it. And that was the first time in ten years I'd had that strength of feeling.

See I loved you like a sista/but you died to quick/And that's why we called U bitch, I betcha.

be a lie, If I told ya that I never thought of death/my niggas, we tha last ones left!

Professionally our methods of transmitting and reviewing the results of research are generations old and by now are totally inadequate for their purpose. If the aggregate time spent in writing scholarly works and in reading them could be evaluated, the ratio between these amounts of time might well be startling. Those who conscientiously attempt to keep abreast of current thought, even in restricted fields, by close and continuous reading might well shy away from an examination calculated to show how much of the previous month's efforts could be produced on call. Mendel's concept of the laws of genetics was lost to the world for a generation because his publication did not reach the few who were capable of grasping and extending it; and this sort of catastrophe is undoubtedly being repeated all about us, as truly significant attainments become lost in the mass of the inconsequential.

For they could not love you, but still your love was true And when no hope was left in sight, on that starry starry night You took your life as lovers often do, But I could have told you, Vincent, This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Omnia fert aetas, animum quoque.