Quotes About Fragility

Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know--because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.

la guerra convierte esas evanescentes diferencias en un abismo insondable. La vida y la muerte dejan de ser especulaciones de la razón para transformarse en un dilema urgente, inmediato, desesperado. La vida pasa a ser un cristal frágil y la muerte una posibilidad cercana. Sin

Life is not a dream. Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! We fall down stairs and eat the moist earth, or we climb up to the snow's edge with the choir of dead dahlias. But there is no oblivion, no dream: raw flesh. Kisses tie mouths in a tangle of new veins and those who are hurt will hurt without rest and those who are frightened by death will carry it on their shoulders.

I want to cry because I feel like it— the way children cry in the last row of seats— because I am not a man, not a poet, not a leaf, only a wounded pulse that probes the things of the other side.

Don't lose your head," screamed the pheasant. And at the same time his voice broke in a whistling gasp and, spreading his wings, he flew up with a loud whir. Bambi watched how he flew straight up, directly between the trees, beating his wings. The dark metallic blue and greenish-brown marking son his body gleamed like gold. His long tail feathers swept proudly behind him. A short crash like thunder sounded sharply. The pheasant suddenly crumpled up in mid-flight.

No hay más hondo dolor, pena más honda, que a la rosa, por rosa, la consuma.

We thought ourselves kings of the ages. Now we find that all our civilisation has been nothing but a brief, brightly lit nursery, where we have played with paper crowns and wooden sceptres.

Perhaps illnesses could be left behind, just like small, badly concealed china corpses.

Fear made everyone look very alive in a strange and fragile way, like the last flare of a candle before it dies.

Why don't we give her a crumb or two of that?" "For the same reason that I do not try to pull a thread free from a cobweb and use it to darn my socks," growled Grandible. "Pull on a thread, and you pull on the whole web. And then out come the spiders . . .

But I'm afraid to sleep!" whispered Trista. "What if I fall to pieces before I wake up? What if tomorrow morning I'm just a pile of leaves and sticks tucked under a blanket? What if this is the last time I've got left, and I waste it all being asleep, then wake up dead?

Makepeace felt something in her chest wrench, and wondered if it was her heart breaking. She waited to see how that would feel. Perhaps hearts broke like eggs, and spilt, and stopped working. But all she felt was numb. 'Perhaps my heart already broke and never grew back.

And the bones fell to the ground, and other bones fell on top of them, and yet more bones, until there were whole hills and cliffs made of them. Death upon death upon death upon death. And two-legged animals dug up old bones and wondered at them. And then they died as well and lay there, like a rat in the sawdust, waiting to become old bones.

Perhaps the world has always been like this, Mosca thought as she pushed her way through the crowd. Like a broken honeypot that looks whole, but just holds together because the shards are resting in place and are glued together with honey. You just need to prod it a bit, and it all starts oozing apart.

Everyone on the Myriad was always one divine whim away from annihilation.

The water had got into the seams and joints of the world and washed away the glue. Lives and little universes broke their banks, mingling and bubbling over and flowing out to join the river. Plastic tricycles with peeling sticker eyes, photograph albums, Bic pens, dish brushes, barrettes, uprooted tomato plants. Comics spun giddily, socks sulked against windowsills.

A tree can grow two hundred years, and look like it'll last a thousand more - but when lightning strikes at last, it burns.

Perhaps the world has always been like this, Mosca thought as she pushed her way through the crowd. Like a broken honeypot that looks whole, but just holds together because the shards are resting in place and are glued together with honey.

La conciencia de lo fácil que era morir me erizó la piel. Aunque lo sabía por experiencia propia, me impresionaba que la frontera entre la vida y la muerte fuera tan fina. La fragilidad de la vida. [pp.151]

Get rid of the things that make you fragile We're taking the negative route for this exercise. Ask yourself: What makes me fragile? Certain people , things , and habits generate losses for us and make us vulnerable. Who and what are they? When we make our New Year's resolutions, we tend to emphasize adding new challenges to our lives. It's great to have this kind of objective, but setting " good riddance " goals can have an even bigger impact.

It seems only yesterday that I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I would shine. But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed.

The world glitters in the distance... but the closer I get the more I see that everyone is fragile and clumsy... and trying their hardest.

Man is only a reed, the weakest in nature; but he is a thinking reed. There is no need for the whole universe to take up arms to crush him: a vapor, a drop of water is enough to kill him. But even if the universe were to crush him, man would still be nobler than his slayer, because he knows that he is dying and the advantage the universe has over him. The universe knows nothing of this.

A loose feather can't be put back...but a broken wing can sometimes heal.