lost (n.)
lost (adj.)
- abandoned
- abashed
- ablated
- abroad
- absent
- absentminded
- absorbed
- abstracted
- accursed
- adrift
- away
- baffled
- bemused
- bewildered
- bothered
- buried
- bygone
- clueless
- confounded
- confused
- consumed
- corrupt
- cursed
- damned
- dead
- defunct
- departed
- depleted
- desperate
- destroyed
- discomposed
- disconcerted
- dismayed
- disoriented
- dissipated
- dissolute
- distracted
- distrait
- distraught
- disturbed
- doomed
- dreamy
- drowsing
- ecstatic
- embarrassed
- engrossed
- eroded
- exhausted
- expended
- extinct
- fallen
- faraway
- forfeit
- forfeited
- forgotten
- frantic
- frenzied
- godless
- gone
- graceless
- helpless
- hopeless
- incorrigible
- incurable
- inoperable
- irreclaimable
- irrecoverable
- irredeemable
- irremediable
- irreparable
- irretrievable
- irreversible
- irrevocable
- lacking
- late
- mazed
- meditative
- mislaid
- misplaced
- missing
- musing
- mystified
- napping
- nodding
- nonexistent
- obliterated
- oblivious
- obsolete
- passed
- past
- pensive
- perplexed
- perturbed
- preoccupied
- puzzled
- rapt
- reprobate
- ruined
- shrunken
- spent
- squandered
- terminal
- unchaste
- unconscious
- unconverted
- undone
- unmitigable
- unredeemable
- unredeemed
- unregenerate
- upset
- used
- vanished
- wanton
- wasted
- woolgathering
- wrecked
"I 've lost a day!"—the prince who nobly cried,
Had been an emperor without his crown.
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,
Farewell remorse; all good to me is lost.
Evil, be thou my good.
What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; th' unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield.
All is lost save honour.
1 W. When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
2 W. When the hurlyburly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.
Let still the woman take
An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart:
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.
Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won.
For it so falls out
That what we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours.
Count that day lost whose low descending sun
Views from thy hand no worthy action done.
Author unknown.
And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd
For one fair female, lost him half the kind.
I am not so lost in lexicography as to forget that words are the daughters of earth, and that things are the sons of heaven.
The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
In discourse more sweet;
For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense.
Others apart sat on a hill retir'd,
In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high
Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute;
And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
Reputation, reputation, reputation! Oh, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.
There shall be no love lost.
There is no love lost between us.
Not lost, but gone before.
Not lost, but gone before.
Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear.
Reputation, reputation, reputation! Oh, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.
The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew,
The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,—too many, yet how few!
One of the sophisms of Chrysippus was, "If you have not lost a thing, you have it."
Count that day lost whose low descending sun
Views from thy hand no worthy action done.
Author unknown.
This song—written and composed by Linley for Mr. Augustus Braham, and sung by him—is given entire, as so much inquiry has been made for the source of "Though lost to Sight, to Memory dear." It is not known when the song was written,—probably about 1830.
Tho' lost to sight, to mem'ry dear
Thou ever wilt remain;
One only hope my heart can cheer,—
The hope to meet again.
Oh fondly on the past I dwell,
And oft recall those hours
When, wand'ring down the shady dell,
We gathered the wild-flowers.
Yes, life then seem'd one pure delight,
Tho' now each spot looks drear;
Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight,
To mem'ry thou art dear.
Oft in the tranquil hour of night,
When stars illume the sky,
I gaze upon each orb of light,
And wish that thou wert by.
I think upon that happy time,
That time so fondly lov'd,
When last we heard the sweet bells chime,
As thro' the fields we rov'd.
Yes, life then seem'd one pure delight,
Tho' now each spot looks drear;
Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight,
To mem'ry thou art dear.
What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; th' unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield.
For 't is a truth well known to most,
That whatsoever thing is lost,
We seek it, ere it come to light,
In every cranny but the right.
All that's bright must fade,—
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest.
The woman that deliberates is lost.
