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This was another item about growing up: you encountered all the cliches of love and loss and heartbreak.
The difference in the way Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump talk about the middle class is stark. For Clinton, it's a story of hope. For Trump, it is a story of loss.
People lose people, we lose things in our life as we're constantly growing and changing. That's what life is is change, and a lot of that is loss. It's what you gain from that loss that makes life.
No man will ever bring out of the Presidency the reputation which carries him into it. To myself, personally, it brings nothing but increasing drudgery and daily loss of friends.
And peradventure we have more cause to thank Him for our loss than for our winning; for His wisdom better seeth what is good for us than we do ourselves.
Unless things change radically, President Bush will be the first President since Herbert Hoover to have presided over a net loss of jobs during his administration.
In those places of doubt and even darkness I've realized that who I am has nothing to do with wins or losses, applause, or negative criticism. It has to do with whose I am.
It was quite a European war until 1917, when the Americans joined up. They don't have the same sense of the loss of innocence and the cataclysmic loss of life. A whole generation was wiped out.
Seems to me that there is no better way to experience the depth of loss than after the fact. No more powerful instrument of imbuing value in an object than parting with it.
When my Azzedine jacket from 1987 died, I wrapped it up in a box, attached a note saying where it came from and took it to the Salvation Army. It was a big loss.
Curious, how each one of us secretly carries his private cemetery around with him and watches it filling up with ever new graves. The last one to be our own.
After an unremitting and severe labour of two days, we returned to our old encampment with the loss of some of my horses, and my men excessively fatigued.