Quotes About Fragility

All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.

She caught him in his schoolboy mode, polite and dutiful, mailing letters to his grandparents and step-siblings, notes full of nothing written in perfect script. Yet he feels like she caught him so unaware and alone that she saw the other side, the wolf crawling through wreckage, through broken walls, cracked Venetian mirrors, dust, blood, a turned-over rocking horse - the child who doesn't know it's own name.

Tory smokes, sitting on the floor with her impeccable posture, the gang of disciples around her. A few are straight, two gay, a couple in between, none more beautiful than her, most of them broken, half parasitic and half delightful. She

Shisha ke maida shod, tiztar misha,' runs a Haz?ra proverb: broken glass becomes sharper.

Even in a country at war, you forget war because the momentum of living is too great – until like a sullen beast it bares its face as if on a vicious whim, and you are reminded of the ease with which life can be extinguished.

The cleanest souls are the easiest to soil.

2.5.03.02.005: Generally speaking, if you fiddle with something, it will break. Don't.

The universe always moves from an ordered state to a disordered one; that a glass may fall to the ground and shatter yet you never see a broken glass reassemble itself and then jump back on the table.

All our societies on the verge of nervous breakdowns, but still they do not collapse. All these bodies subject to the most incredible physical, ideological, media persecutions, yet they resist with an improbable malleability. Far from bemoaning our fragility, we should admire our stamina and that of the social body as a whole.

A spider so fragile, so spindly, so translucent that it runs like a watermark across the paper, just like the tiny blood vessels on your skin. It disturbs nothing, running around in the void, in a very great hurry to live and die. In fact, its tiny size, its microscopic structure is a challenge to the monstrous being that we are. It's fragility can only make us wish to crush it, and that would not even be a crime since our two universes are so entirely separate.

The traces of the dinosaurs howl in our memories. Had they been alive we would have exterminated them, but we respect their traces. It is the same with the human race: the more we imperil it, the more meticulously we preserve its remains.

As a result. the more the hegemony of the global consensus is reinforced. the greater the risk, or the chances, of its collapse.

Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment.

I have been too unhappy, I thought, it cannot last, being so unhappy, it would kill you

The house was burning, the yellow-red sky was like the sunset...Nothing would be left, the golden ferns and the silver ferns, the orchids, the ginger lilies and the roses...When they had finished, there would be nothing left but blackened walls and the mounting stone. That was always left. That could not be stolen or burned.

Satin skin, silk hair, velvet eyes, sawdust heart - all complete.

She lifted her eyes. Blank, lovely eyes. Mad eyes. A mad girl.

There was a vase of flame-coloured tulips in the hall - surely the most graceful of flowers. Some thrust their heads forward like snakes, and some were very erect, stiff, virginal, rather prim. Some were dying, with curved grace in their death.

Vi a Antoinette tendida en cama, absolutamente inmóvil. Como una muñeca. Incluso cuando me amenazó con la botella, había en ella cierta calidad de marioneta.

Of course, every new caress would only have taken us closer to the inevitable: break-ups, tears, disillusionment, sadness, anguish, loathing. It wouldn't have made the slightest difference to the mess that human beings make of this world.

There is a certain seductiveness about dead things. You can ill treat, alter and recolour what's dead. It won't complain.

The hard-bound space hides the vulnerable self.

love smashes into your life like an ice floe, and even if your heart is built like the Titanic you go down

The door had swung open. I had gone in. The room had no floor. I had fallen and fallen and fallen. But I was alive. And that night the cold stars made a constellation from the pieces of my broken mind.