Quotes About Fragmented

Goethe says: truth repels, but delusion attracts, because truth presents us as limited, while delusion presents us as omnipotent. Moreover, truth repels because it is fragmented and incomprehensible, while delusion is coherent and logical.

As for myself, I am splintered by great waves. I am coloured glass from a church window long since shattered. I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.

I know from my own experience that suicide is not what it seems. Too easy to try to piece together the fragmented life. The spirit torn in bits so that the body follows.

Yes. Just pass me my leg will you? It's on top of the wardrobe where he threw it, and I think my right arm is leaning over by the wall. My head is in the gas oven but it will probably be all right, I'm told that green colour wears off. Unfortunately I threw my heart to the dogs. Never mind. No one will notice how much is missing from the inside, will they?

And so do you suppose it must be a piece-work because it has been given to you (and could only be given to you) in pieces?

apparently there are some holes in it. It's like an incomplete deck of cards –

Marbled with static like gristly meat.

These pieces of you, imperfectly sewn and patched all over, blur by like a blinding pitch

Now Second Avenue is a dismal street, made from scraps and ends; part cobblestone, part asphalt, part cement; and its atmosphere of desertion is permanent.

showed trees, sky, half a cat

My thoughts were a jumble. I experienced the world in bewildering fragments and flashes.

Cut him out in little stars.

Memories come to mind like excavated statues that have misplaced their heads.

Within my roasting brain cells, the scaps of thought refused to cohere.

Do I not have a plot to my life? for I am unexpectedly fragmentary.

I am the priestess of a secret that I no longer know. And I serve out of blissful ignorance. I found out something I was unable to understand, my lips became sealed, and I retained only the incomprehensible fragments of a ritual.

I, neutral cockroach body, I with a life that at last is not eluding me because I finally see it outside of myself -- I am the cockroach, I am my leg, I am my hair, I am the section of brightest light on the wall plaster -- I am every Hellish piece of myself -- life is so pervasive in me that if they divide me in pieces like a lizard, the pieces will keep on shaking and writhing.

Breaking news is when you disseminate broken issues and fragmented ideas into one.

I have always grappled with the fact that the truth cannot be packaged into one soul or one mind alone. It is something fragmented: there is so much to it; the truth is varied and scattered across the world.

The door, meagerly, opened and he saw within the apartment a fragmented and misaligned shrinking figure, a girl who cringed and slunk away and yet held onto the door, as if for physical support. Fear made her seem ill; it distorted her body lines, made her appear as if someone had broken her and then, with malice, patched her together badly.

We have a hodge-podge of leaks in reality.

I felt there was a piece of me missing, a piece that had become so unnerved that it fell away without me feeling it. I didn't even know what piece it was-I just felt the gap, and knew that whatever it was, it must have been important.

It would be great if the entire film came all at once. But it comes, for me, in fragments... In Blue Velvet, it was red lips, green lawns, and the song—Bobby Vinton's version of 'Blue Velvet.' The next thing was an ear lying in a field. And that was it.

The mental pane of glass shattered.