How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.
Never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.
Can miles truly separate you from friends... If you want to be with someone you love, aren't you already there?
The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected.
The scariest thing about distance is that you don’t know whether they’ll miss you or forget you.
Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.
No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth.
The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning.
A man never knows how to say goodbye; a woman never knows when to say it.
Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.
I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end.
But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts.
Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.
You and I will meet again, When we're least expecting it, One day in some far off place, I will recognize your face, I won't say goodbye my friend, For you and I will meet again.
Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes.
Love is missing someone whenever you're apart, but somehow feeling warm inside because you're close in heart.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.
And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.
Good-byes breed a sort of distaste for whomever you say good-bye to; this hurts, you feel, this must not happen again.
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