Quotes About Fragility

The agony of having to share this small slice of world with big breakable humans who are really just uncovered beating hearts walking around spilling their viscera and their words everywhere, not bothering to clean up. Animals are a smooth punctuation to human parataxis, resisting our love out of modesty.

Wes imagined that, in some other distant world, if he remembered nothing else about his father, he would remember that his hand trembled when he drank water. That, or the fact that his eyes teared up whenever he heard "Brown-Eyed Girl" on the radio.

If life has hit out at you, and you weren't prepared for it, a little housefly has only to cough and it will knock you flat

Die Kunst kommt sich vor wie eine Porzellantasse im Elefantenkäfig.

I am a modern man with a strong tendency to self-destruction.

Ravic speaking of a butterfly caught in the Louvre) In the morning it would search for flowers and life and the light honey of blossoms and would not find them and later it would fall asleep on millennial marble, weakened by then, until the grip of the delicate, tenacious feet loosened and it fell, a thin leaf of premature autumn.

And in the night you realize, when you wake out of a dream, overcome and captivated by the enchantment of visions that crowd in on each other, just how fragile a handhold, how tenuous a boundary separates us from darkness - we are little flames, inadequately sheltered by thin walls from the tempest of dissolution and insensibility in which we flicker and are often all but extinguished. Then the muted sounds of battle surrounds us, and we creep into ourselves and stare wide-eyed into the night.

We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out.

We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out. Then the muffled roar of the battle becomes a ring that encircles us, we creep in upon ourselves, and with big eyes stare into the night. Our only comfort is the steady breathing of our comrades asleep, and thus we wait for the morning.

Laikas - tai silpnutis mirties ekstraktas, kuris iš l?to skverbiasi ? mus kaip nestiprus narkotikas. Iš pradži? jis gaivina, ir mes net pradedame tik?ti, kad esame nemirtingi, bet lašas po lašo, diena po dienos jis tampa vienu lašu, viena diena stipresnis ir pavirsta r?gštimi, drums?ian?ia ir nuodijan?ia m?s? krauj?.

And at night, waking out of a dream, overwhelmed and bewitched by the crowding apparitions, a man perceives with alarm how slight is the support, how thin the boundary that divides him from the darkness. We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out.

We are two human beings, two tiny sparks of life; outside there is just the night, and all around us, death.

JesteÅ›my nikÅ'ymi pÅ'omykami, zaledwie ochranianymi sÅ'abymi Å›cianami przed nawaÅ'nicÄ… rozpadu i bezsensownoÅ›ci, w której trzepocemy siÄ™ i niekiedy prawie ?e toniemy.

He had collapsed like a rotten tree.

Es neuzdr?kst?jos vi?u nosk?pst?t. Vi?a st?v?ja tuvu jo tuvu, ta?u tik sastingusi, ka, lik?s, var?tu sal?zt, ja vi?ai pieskartos.

We are little flames, inadequately sheltered by thin walls from the tempest of dissolution and insensibility in which we flicker and often are all but extinguished.

I nod and wonder what to say to encourage him. His lips have fallen away, his mouth has become larger, his teeth stick out and look as though they were made of chalk. The flesh melts, the forehead bulges more prominently, the cheekbones protrude. The skeleton is working itself through. The eyes are already sunken in. In a couple of hours it will be over.

ties knotted to a wasp's waist at his neck.

The real world is simply too terrible to admit; it tells man that he is a small, trembling animal who will decay and die.

Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?

She is kind and very beautiful. But she can be so cruel and it comes so suddenly and such birds that fly, dipping and hunting, with their small sad voices are made too delicately for the sea.

When she cried her whole face went to pieces.

Do you suppose it will always go on? No. What's to stop it? It will crack somewhere.

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.