If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.
When raindrops hit the tin roof it's crazy. That's a metaphor, did I lose you baby?
The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not "get over" the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.
Copyright: Elisabeth Kubler-Ross Family Limited Partnership.
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.
'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
And she said 'Losing love is like a window in your heart, Everybody sees you're blown apart, Everybody feels the wind blow.'
Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.
Sorrow makes us all children again.
Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.
To love and win is the best thing. To love and lose, the next best.
He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
Losing love is so rich a philosophical ordeal that it makes a hairdresser into a rival of Socrates.
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.
Better to have loved and lost than to live with regret.
Losing love is like organ damage. It's like dying. The only difference is, death ends. This? It can go on forever.
Losing love is like a window in your heart.
Sorrow makes us all children again - destroys all differences of intellect. The wisest know nothing.
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.
We shall find peace. We shall hear angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.
The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.
And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of those depths.
For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
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