Quotes About Fragility

He liked the fragility of those moments suspended in time. Those memories whose only function is to leave just a trace in memory.

they still made the feather tick bust a seam once or twice a month

corners of her eyes, and she squeezed them tight, mortified that she might have to explain—again—a crying jag. It had just been so long since she'd snuggled up to something this big, this warm, this human. "You smell better than Grimm," she said against Ryan's mouth. He drew back a little. "What?" She discovered her tears had dried up and

FLOWERS FADE, FREEZE in an early frost, wither on the vine. Trees burst into flame and burn themselves out. Leaves crumble to ash.

And all the winds go sighing, For sweet things dying

Sure it takes two to make the relationship work, but it only takes one to destroy it all.

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth.

Hope is like a hairball trembling from its birth...

What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow. What are brief? today and tomorrow. What are frail? spring blossoms and youth. What are deep? the ocean and truth.

Here's the thing: we're all as thin as paper. Like those paper people you used to find in old children's magazines, inhabiting a two-page spread with other paper people, all of them hanging out somewhere together-at the park, at church, at school, at the mall, on the family room-until some kid took a pair of scissors to the dotted lines surrounding them and cut them out of their paper world. That's us, that's anyone. That was me. A cut-out paper person removed from the world I once belonged to.

They are narcissists, pumped full of self-esteem, but that self-esteem is always hanging by a thread and once pricked, their egos burst like a balloon.

Life is short and filled with pain, and just when you start to finally get the hang of it, you drop dead.

The trees were as bright as a shower of broken glass.

The dream dissipated like smoke, and she tried so hard to hold it inside her heart and her memory, but like all dreams, it had never been meant to keep.

I would have liked to cry: the make-up stopped me, it looked just right, with the cracks, with the places where it was beginning to flake off, tears would have ruined all that. I could cry later, if I still felt like it.

Your life can change in the blink of an eye, on a calm and beautiful Midsummer night. You lose what you love while you think it is still safe beside you.

a torn-paper whiteness behind the sun that speaks of frost to come.

Keep reindeer moss in the dark, freeze it, dry it to a crisp, it won't die. It goes dormant and waits for things to improve. Impressive stuff. I weighed the little twiggy sphere in my hand. Hardly there at all.

my gentleness is a veneer on raging despair.

Miranda put a hand over her face and looked through her fingers, the world in pieces, her father's legs gone, the woman's torso vanished. Now they looked like broken dolls, their jaws clacking, breeze blowing through their hollows.

So her missing person's poster features a girl with long hair and dreamy eyes that don't see the fracture coming.

It is an important experience to be in the presence of a thinking creature who is crying. A weak, broken creature who is crying creates the same impression as an omnipotent god whom one implores; for in its weakness and defeat it rises above the human condition.

My soft voice and demeanor were useless. In a pint jar, I carried a cremated friend, like flesh scraped from a cistern.

A bubble of air in the blood, a drop of water in the brain, and a man is out of gear, his machine falls to pieces, his thought vanishes, the world disappears from him like a dream at morning. On what a spider thread is hung our individual existence!