Quotes About Fragility

People try to save special things but they did not always succeed. Rare books from a library were moved to a Pavilion building. When the Pavilion building caught fire, all the books burned. The building that originally held them did not burn at all.

Once I witnessed a windstorm so severe two 100-year-old trees were uprooted on the spot. The next day, walking among the wreckage, I found the friable nests of birds, completely intact and unharmed on the ground. That the featherweight survive the massive, that this reversal of fortune takes place among us — that is what haunts me. I don't know what it means.

warned me that the tenuous balance that exists in my brain is easily set off kilter, but like everything else he said

Un sueño roto bien pegado puede volverse aún más bello y sólido. Hasta el punto de hacer añicos los límites de lo real.

Firstly: don't touch the hands of your cuckoo-clock heart. Secondly: master your anger. Thirdly: never, ever fall in love. For if you do, the hour hand will poke through your skin, your bones will shatter, and your heart will break once more.

La cascara del huevo se agrieta y aparece la pequeña cantante, con el cuerpo cubierto de plumas rojas. La sostengo entre el pulgar y el índice, tengo miedo de aplastarla y, al mismo tiempo, de que se vaya volando.

Hacía apenas unas horas, tenía a mi corazón por un navío capaz de romper las aguas de un océano enfurecido. Ya sabía que no era precisamente el más sólido del mundo, pero creía en el poder de mi entusiasmo.

Ti amo di sbieco perché ho un cuore malandato fin dalla nascita. I medici mi hanno formalmente vietato di innamorarmi perché il mio orologio-cuore è troppo fragile per resistere. Ciò nonostante ho messo la mia vita nelle tue mani, perché oltre al sogno, tu mi hai regalato una dose d'amore tanto forte che mi sono sentito capace di affrontare qualunque cosa per te.

Sus labios revoloteaban como un copo de nieve. El segundo copo de nieve perdido en una playa de verano, y yo que trataba de recuperarlo con mi nevera demasiado grande. A partir de dos copos de ese tipo, puede hablarse de tempestad.

Sin embargo, aquel recuerdo había hecho crecer una extraña flor en el fondo del agujero de obús que me servía de corazón. Poco más que una rosa, apenas una amapola. Pero era hermoso mirarla entre los escombros. Me daba fuerzas.

Los pájaros se entierran en pleno cielo. Incluso la más elegante de las nubes está repleta de sus cuerpecitos yertos. Se dice que de cada 10.189 gotas de lluvia, 1 sería la lágrima de un pájaro y que de cada 16.474 copos de nieve, 1 el fantasma de un pájaro descolgado de la placenta celeste.

No nos miramos de verdad. No nos tocamos de verdad, apenas nos dijimos nada. Sus ojos demasiado grandes en la piel de porcelana, y esa manera extraña de pedir perdón por sonreír. Sus labios, que revoloteaban como un copo de nieve perdido en una playa estival, y yo, que trataba de cazarlo con mi nevera demasiado grande. Un cataclismo disfrazado de beso en miniatura. Más poderoso que un ejército de rayos. El beso más pequeño nunca visto. Impacto de luz y luego nada.

An egg's true value is only known when it is broken.

Light enters a broken vessel more easily than an intact one.

The most beautiful roses sometimes have the sharpest thorns.

You can crush a rose; all it will do is give off perfume.

Should I hold it in my hand, it will melt in my burning tears. Autumnal frost.

I'm touched by this chrysanthemum it weathered the typhoon

Dying cricket - how full of life, his song.

The hardiest plant in the world is the purple saxifrage. It has delicate-looking flowers, with purple petals that seem as though they might blow away in the wind, yet it thrives in the Arctic. The flowers survive by clustering together, low to the ground, offering each other shelter against the hardest conditions on earth.

This is what happens when you live on Earth. You crack. You hold reality in your hands until it burns and then you have to drop the plate.

So, I thought to myself as I walked away, this is what happens when you live on Earth. You crack. You hold reality in your hands until it burns and then you have to drop the plate.

I wish I were a rose...that you might wear me for a buttonhole bouquet on your journey. But I wonder...would you throw the rose away when it faded?

For the editors of the Standard, Buchanan not only represented a neo-isolationist populist insurgency but also threw into relief the brittleness, fragility, and cowardice of the Republican establishment.