Loading filters...
60 quotes
The price of progress is often the loss of what made it worth striving for.
A memory is a fragile bird; hold it gently, or it will fly away forever.
The echo of what might have been is often louder than what is.
Let the falling leaves remind you that even endings can be beautiful.
The quietest woods often echo with the loudest memories.
The half-life of joy is a fleeting dance, remembered most vividly in its absence.
To feel the absence is to acknowledge the presence that was. Even in loss, there is a testament to love.
We chase shadows, mistaking them for substance, until the darkness claims us all.
Beauty, like a fleeting dream, vanishes upon the harsh awakening of reality.
The keenest suffering often lies not in what is lost, but in the lingering echo of what might have been.
Every loss teaches us something, if we are willing to learn.
Grief, like the tide, ebbs and flows, but leaves its mark upon the shore of the soul.
We are all, in the end, stories whispered into the void, hoping someone will remember the tale.
Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it helps you learn to live with the scars.
The heart, a shadowed chamber, echoes with the whispers of what could have been.
The past is a tapestry; we can unravel threads, but we cannot rewrite the whole cloth.
The shadows lengthen, but the heart remembers the light.
The most valuable lessons are often learned through heartbreak and loss; they shape who we become.
Fear is the phantom limb of the soul, forever reminding us of what we have lost.
The raven of regret perches evermore upon the boughs of what might have been, a constant reminder of choices unmade.
Memory is a treacherous muse, painting portraits with the hues of longing and regret.
Sometimes, goodbye isn't forever. It's simply 'until we meet again.'
Better to have loved and lost, than never to have awakened to the possibility.
The heart, a haunted chamber, echoes with whispers of what was and what could never be.
Loneliness is a phantom limb, forever aching for what is lost.
The past is a phantom limb; it aches with a life we no longer possess, yet shapes the very step we take.
Regret is a ghost that returns to haunt the house you built with your past.
We are all flawed, beautifully broken mosaics pieced together by love and loss.
The past is a relentless tide, forever pulling us back to shores we thought we'd left behind.
We yearn for what we lack, and regret what we had, forgetting the present holds its own sorrow and beauty.
The past is a ghost that haunts the present, unless you learn to exorcise it.
Time, the great sculptor, chisels away at our dreams, leaving only echoes of what might have been.
Memory is a subtle thief, stealing not just what was, but what could have been.
The land remembers what we forget. Its silent stones whisper of lives lived and lost.
Grief is a landscape we must learn to navigate, not escape.