Quotes About Fragility

The canker worm is at work within The fairest of her flowers.

I will walk on eggs.

One more unfortunate,Weary of breath,Rashly importunate,Gone to her death!Take her up tenderly,Lift her with care;Fashioned so slenderly,Young, and so fair!

For if one link in nature's chain might be lost, another might be lost, until the whole of things will vanish piecemeal.

Tapping a little bell, I leaned on the desk and turned to look at a small, traditionally decorated Christmas tree on a table near the entranceway. It was complete with shiny, egg-fragile bulbs; miniature candy canes; flat, laughing Santas with arms wide; a star on top nodding awkwardly against the delicate shoulder of an upper branch; and colored lights that bloomed out of flower-shaped sockets. For some reason this seemed to me a sorry little piece.

of spoiling flesh on disintegrating bones.

Life had overshot its target, blowing itself apart. A species had been armed too heavily—by spirit made almighty without, but equally a menace to its own well-being. Its weapon was like a sword without hilt or plate, a two-edged blade cleaving everything; but he who is to wield it must grasp the blade and turn one edge toward himself.

Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,I've seen my fondest hope decay;I never loved a tree or flower,But 'twas the first to fade away.I never nurs'd a dear gazelleTo glad me with its soft black eye,But when it came to know me well,And love me, it was sure to die.

'Tis the last rose of summer,Left blooming alone;All her lovely companionsAre faded and gone.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers Is always the first to be touched by the thorns.

You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

Beauty is but a flower, which wrinkles will devour.

While this number puts the economic fragility of America's families in a new light, the shocking statistic is that nine out of every ten black Americans will encounter poverty during their working adult years.

unloved, educated or illiterate, wanted or unwanted by her parents, whether or not she suffered hurt and betrayal, or whether she still managed to retain her humanity and nobility? In the end, Bhima thinks, it doesn't matter. It is all ash and dust. This is what it means to be human, she thinks: grains of dust arranged in human form—some dark, some light, some tall, some short, some male, some female. And in the end, the same gust of wind breaks them all down.

In the presence of immortality—the endlessly churning sea, the plowed fields of the sky, the loose gypsy wind—the rest of her life feels absurdly, ridiculously mortal and transient. Transient as money, fragile as love. As ethereal and ready to pop as these balloons that are dancing in the wind.

I want to know without words. I want to fall so violently that I risk breaking into a million pieces.

I went home feeling so unbearably alone I actually thought there was a possibility I could drop dead before the night was over.

How easily it can all be washed away. Power, happiness, even life itself. It only takes an instant, a single unguarded instant. And it's gone.

Reality is always at the edge of the abyss, hung from the thread of a thought.

El tazón roto se convierte en espada aguda. Todas las cosas que se han roto se vuelven espadas.

If I gave you my life, you would drop it wouldnt you?

el desinterés, el tiempo y los desastres naturales irán royendo lentamente nuestras pinturas hasta acabar con ellas.

I'd discovered how proud and fragile men could be, the sense of self that courses through their veins. I knew that fathers and sons were capable of killing each other. Whether it was father's killing their sons, or sons killing the fathers, men always emrged victorious , and all that was left for me to do was weep.

I carry the seeds of death within me and plant them wherever I linger long enough to love.