Quotes About Fragility

Her heart was full and her senses were sharp, but her head felt liable to burst in the vacuum of her solitude.

There seemed to be almost nothing left of Lalitha; she was breaking up on him the way dead songbirds did in the wild-they were impossibly light to begin with, and as soon as their little hearts stopped beating they were barely more than bits of fluff and hollow bone, easily scatterd in the wind-but this only made him more determined to hold onto what little of her he still had.

She seemed more pitiable than murderable.

She was like a bank too big in her mother's economy to fail

It was the prospect of another two or three or five years of sex in the ashes that made me think of death.

Every murder needs a murderer, just as every egg invites a spoon or knife. The thin white shell would not make any sense unless breakage was part of its plan.

I raised that kid like I was running an egg-and-spoon race through a minefield, and he was the egg.

But I knew the truth and that's why I was so sad. Every moment before this one depends on this one. Everything in the history of the world can be proven wrong in one moment.

I zipped myself all the way into the sleeping bag of myself, not because I was hurt, and not because I had broken something, but because they were cracking up.

Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of...

Every night before putting her to sleep, Yankel counts her ribs, as if one might have disappeared in the course of the day and become the seed and soil for some new companion to steal her away from him.

In the end, everyone looses everyone. There was no invention to get around that, and so I felt, that night, like the turtle that everything else in the universe was on top of.

it broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of

Referencing 2 Corinthians 4:6, Robert Hewitt compares jars of clay in the first century to the same value we would put on a cardboard box. Joni Eareckson Tada queries whether we would question God's right to leave some holes in the box in order to give glimpses of the treasure inside

There are certain kinds of flowers-have you ever noticed?-that are beautiful and fragrant as long as they grow in the garden. But if you put them in vases, even silver vases, they wilt and die (272)

What will die with me the day I die? What pathetic or frail image will be lost to the world? The voice of Macedonio Fernandez, the image of a bay horse in a vacant lot on the corner of Sarrano and Charcas, a bar of sulfur in the drawer of a mahogany desk?

Day and night, their frail and crippled ships defy the tempest.

La muerte (o su alusión) hace preciosos y patéticos a los hombres. Estos conmueven por su condición de fantasmas; cada acto que ejecutan puede ser último; no hay rostro que no esté por desdibujarse como el rostro de un sueño. Todo entre los mortales tiene el valor de lo irrecuperable y de lo azaroso.

Yo había comprendido hace muchos años que no hay cosa en el mundo que no sea germen de un Infierno posible: un rostro, una palabra, una brújula, un aviso de cigarrillos, podrían enloquecer a una persona, si ésta no lograra olvidarlos.

La Recoleta ... Aqui não estarei eu. Estarão o meu cabelo e as minhas unhas, que não saberão que o resto estará morto, e continuarão a crescer e serão pó. Aqui não estarei eu, que serei parte do esquecimento que é a frágil substância de que é feito o universo.

Vivió en la soledad, sin una mujer, sin amigos; todo lo amó y lo poseyó, pero desde lejos, como del otro lado de un cristal; murió, y su tenue imagen se perdió, como el agua en el agua

Deeds which populate the dimensions of space and which reach their end when someone dies may cause us wonderment, but one thing, or an infinite number of things, dies in every final agony, unless there is a universal memory as the theosophists have conjectured. In time there was a day that extinguished the last eyes to see Christ; the battle of Junín and the love of Helen died with the death of a man. What will die with me when I die, what pathetic or fragile form will the world lose?

A página de perfeição, a página na qual nenhuma palavra pode ser alterada sem prejuízo, é a mais precária de todas.

Moartea (ori pomenirea ei) îi face pe oameni preÈ›ioÈ™i È™i patetici. ?i condiÈ›ia lor de fantome te impresioneaz?; orice fapt? pe care o s?vârÈ™esc ar putea s? fie ultima. Nu exist? chip care s? nu se risipeasc? precum chipurile din vis. Pentru muritori, totul se afl? sub pecetea irecuperabilului È™i întâmpl?torului.