Quotes About Fragility

New grass, you don't even know where to sprout and grow. How can I, a drop of dew, vanish away in the air leaving you alone?

It was then that Miss Brodie looked beautiful and fragile, just as dark, heavy Edinburgh itself could suddenly be changed into a floating city when the light was a special pearly white and fell upon one of the gracefully fashioned streets. In the same way Miss Brodie's masterful features became clear and sweet to Sandy when viewed in the curious light of the woman's folly, and she never felt more affection for her in her later years than when she thought upon Miss Brodie silly.

He who lives in a glass house should not try to kill two birds with one stone.

La virilité est un fardeau qui renvoie constamment l' homme ordinaire à une vulnérabilité inavouable.

I used to think that I could never lose anyone if I photographed them enough. In fact, my pictures show me how much I've lost.

Countries, like people, don't reboot to zero with a good shock; they just break and keep on breaking.

Later our dreams begin catching fire around the edges, they burn like paper, we wake with our hands full of ash.

Any of them could have a disaster before the school year is over. You could have a disaster an hour from now. Bending over. Something could hit you. People carry guns in glove compartments and lunch boxes. Cars spin out of control in minor drizzle. The more you know, really, the more you have to worry and fret about. It's a miracle anyone can sleep at all.

For women to be urged to think continually of beauty's fragility and transience is a way to try to keep us subservient, by maintaining in us a fatalism that has not been part of Western men's thinking since the Renaissance.

Here is dust remembers it was a rose one time and lay in a woman's hair. Here is dust remembers it was a woman one time and in her hair lay a rose. Oh things one time dust, what else now is it you dream and remember of old days? ? Carl Sandburg, "Dust," The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg . (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; First Edition edition January 6, 2003) Originally published 1950.

like a book read over and over again like one book being a long row of books like leaves and windflowers bending low and bending to be never broken

We are fragile. We're creatures of passage. All that is left of us are our actions, the good or the evil we do to our fellow humans.

Me vi entonces a mí mismo a través de sus ojos; apenas un muchacho transparente que creía haber ganado el mundo en una hora y que todavía no sabía que podía perderlo en un minuto.

en este cochino mundo donde se pudre todo, empezando por la belleza y acabando por la memoria.

Somos frágiles. Criaturas pasajeras. Cuanto queda de nosotros son nuestras acciones, el bien o el mal que hacemos a nuestros semejantes.

Per un attimo, pensai che l'unico vero fantasma è l'assenza causata dalla perdita di chi si ama e mi assalì un senso di precarietà, come se anche la luce limpida di quel mattino fosse un'illusione e potesse svanire da un momento all'altro.

Sai qual è il bello dei cuori infranti? Domandò la bibliotecaria. Scossi la testa. Che possono rompersi davvero soltanto una volta. Il resto sono graffi.

Creía haber ganado el mundo en una hora y que todavía no sabía que podía perderlo en un minuto»

Pasada la primera juventud, empieza el segundo periodo, en el que uno se da cuenta de la fragilidad de la propia vida y lo que en un principio es una simple inquietud va creciendo en el interior como un mar de dudas e incertidumbres que te acompañan durante el resto de tus días.

I was the breakable one. Women always are. It's not so much a question of one big disappointment, though. It's more like a thousand little disappointments raining down on top of each other. After a while it gets to seem like a flood, and the first thing you know you're drowning.

It's like concentrating on your own breath: once you start thinking about the air rushing in and out of your body, your breath has a way of getting stuck in your throat so that you understand how easy it would be to fall down and die.

Something, someone, cut off her head, yanked out her tongue. My mother is a middle-aged woman, a middle-class woman, a woman of moderate intelligence and medium-sized ego and average good luck, so that you would expect her to land somewhere near the middle of the world. Instead she's over there at the edge. The least vibration could knock her off.

Family," he muttered as he turned away from the mirror. "I've learned that they can be taken away in the blink of an eye.

Stupid, fragile mortals.