Quotes About Fragility

Some women, Ester, like to believe their hearts are made of glass, which must shatter if they so much as think of a sin. Oh Ester, shatter

The fire had forged them both—she and her brother—into brittle instruments. Should she bend, she would break.

Creation moves and astonishes if you let it. When I realize how unlikely it is that anything at all should live on this world spun together from dust and hot gases, that creatures of almost infinite variety should at night look up at the stars, I know that it's all more fragile than it appears, and I think maybe the only thing that keeps the Earth alive and turning is our love for it.

She was plagued again by the feeling that the room in which she stood, the earth on which it was built, and the universe in which it turned were as insubstantial as smoke, subject to sudden change.

Life was like the ice on an early-winter pond: more fragile than it appeared to be, riddled by hidden fractures, with a cold darkness below.

I didn't think she would willingly give me up to the hulk; but he would break her like a ceramic bank to get at the coins of knowledge that she held.

On the quantum level, reality is spookily fragile and can be manipulated. By whom? By us. —Ganesh

If we were always conscious of the fact that people precious to us are frighteningly mortal, hanging not even by a thread but by a wisp of gossamer, perhaps we would be kinder to them and more grateful for the love and friendship they give us.

When I realize how unlikely it is that anything at all should live on this world spun together from dust and hot gases, that creatures of almost infinite variety should at night look up at the stars, I know that it's all more fragile than it appears, and I think maybe the only thing that keeps the earth alive and turning is our love for it.

In the company of other people, Amy had little tolerance for quiet. Enduring mutual silences, she sometimes felt as though the other person might ask a terrible question, the answer to which, if she spoke it, would shatter her as surely as a hard-thrown stone will destroy a pane of glass.

On the quantum level, reality is spookily fragile and can be manipulated. By whom? By us. —Ganesh Patel

The vision has passed, but he feels as though he is standing above a void, with nothing to support him, that his fall is about to begin, that he'll shatter his bones on the bloody rack and ruin below.

A man who believes in nothing may look strong, but he's fragile. He can be made to believe in anything, for the emptiness in him yearns to be filled.

I stop to change my film. Without the camera to shield my eyes, I start to feel weak. Queasy. The room tilts. I see the heart lying there, inert and cold. I see the women shoving it back inside the chest cavity... I picture the cavity behind my eyes, and instead of a brain I imagine an enormous roll of film, winding maniacally inside a bloodless metallic skull. A simple recording device, nothing more.

What does it mean, all these tiny actions, these hidden secrets, these fragile humans with their hardships and friendships and fuckships that survive the slog-sprint through time? Don't you all realize? We all end up dust.

The little girl's voice was thin with pain. "They were so pretty," she said. And then she died.

She was resting at a table between numbers in the Greek nightclub where she was dancing. A little of the stage light touched her. She was very frail. She seemed to be thinking about something far away, waiting patiently for somebody to destroy her.

The woman hurt me. She looked so soft and perfect, like a mannequin made of flesh, flesh all the way through.

She had the air of someone clinging to a wall of soap.

Happiness made Marv anxious because he knew it didn't last. But happiness destroyed was worth wrapping your arms around because it always hugged you back.

You've always had a soft heart, son. You just hide it better than most. Danny shrugged. Starting to hide it from myself, then, I guess. Always the danger, that. Then one day, sure, you can't remember where you left all those pieces you tried so hard to hold on. Or why you work so hard at the holding.

I'm just bones in a box, Teddy.

That's the thing about being a victim; you start to think it'll happen to you on a regular basis. Suddenly everything looks suspect and any brightness you may have noticed the day before has dissipated into the shadows. And the shadows are everywhere. It's living with the reality of your own vulnerability, and it sucks.

We are not special. We are lit from within by a single candle flame, and when that flame is blown out and all light leaves our eyes, it is the same as if we never existed at all. We don't own our life, we rent it.