Quotes About Fragments

A man is not a wall, whose stones are crushed upon the road; or a pipe, whose fragments are thrown away at a street corner. The fragments of an intellect are always good.

My father never told us how the stories worked. He didn't reveal the layers, the nuggets of information, the fragments of truth and fantasy. He didn't need to -- because, given the right conditions, the stories activated, sowing themselves.

So I thought maybe I could save just some of it. Maybe, even if we weren't going to be together, we could still . . ." Everyone's thought that: maybe even if, maybe we could still, maybe small bits of precious things can be salvaged.

I decided to make pictures of fragments, images that would spill off the canvas instead of recede into it like a medicine cabinet. I wanted to find images that were in a 'nether-nether-land': things that were a little out of style but hadn't reached the point of nostalgia.

Bud's relationship with the female sex was governed by a gallimaufry of primal impulses, dim suppositions, deranged theories, overheard scraps of conversation, half-remembered pieces of bad advice, and fragments of no-doubt exaggerated anecdotes that amounted to rank superstition.

The moon had broken up into seven large pieces, which inevitably became known as the Seven Sisters, and an uncountable number of smaller ones. Gradually the big ones acquired names. Doc Dubois was responsible for many of these. He gave them descriptive names that wouldn't scare people. It wouldn't do to call them Nemesis or Thor or Grond. So instead it was Potatohead, Mr. Spinny, Acorn, Peach Pit, Scoop, Big Boy, and Kidney Bean.

That undamaged part of her was so small, it was only good for one night.

My car contained guns, bundles of cash I'd found hidden about the house, and boxes of vintage pornography. If I got pulled over and searched, I'd probably go to jail. If I had a wreck, money and porn would litter the interstate, mixed with my funeral suit, my grandfather's rifle, a shotgun, three hundred rounds of ammunition, the remnants of my father's ashes, and whatever was left of me.

Jacques, are you hurt? I will come to you. Shea's soft voice swirled in his mind, caught fragments of his thoughts and seemed to piece him back together. She was, as always, his one and only anchor to reality. Stay there, but stay connected to me, Shea. Being so close to this place is disorienting me. I need you to keep me together. He was begging, but Jacques had no choice.

The city survived in fragments, as though it had been painted on glass and the glass had shattered. He

But the constant motion of the flames soon lulled him into a passive state where unrelated fragments of thoughts, sounds, images, and emotions drifted through him like snowflakes falling from a calm winter's sky.

Perhaps no one religion contains all the truth of the world. Perhaps every religion contains fragments of the truth and it is our responsibility to identify those fragments and piece them together. Or perhaps the elves are right and there are no gods. But how can I know for sure? - Pg 479 Brisingr

How am I supposed to know which religion is the true religion? he wondered. Just because someone follows a certain faith does not necessarily mean it is the right path.… Perhaps no one religion contains all of the truth of the world. Perhaps every religion contains fragments of the truth and it is our responsibility to identify those fragments and piece them together. Or perhaps the elves are right and there are no gods. But how can I know for sure?

At the end of my patient reconstruction, I had before me a kind of lesser library, a symbol of the greater, vanished one: a library made up of fragments, quotations, unfinished sentences, amputated stumps of books.

I have seen many other fragments of the cross, in other churches. If all were genuine, our Lord's torment could not have been on a couple of planks nailed together, but on an entire forest.

to be among the ruins was to have your time-sense unsettled.

When those who found this skeleton attempted to disengage it from that which it held in its grasp, it crumbled to dust.

This blind-man's-buff musketry lasted for a quarter of an hour and killed several panes of glass.

She was a star, burning so brightly it broke apart, pieces flying, light spraying.

Le parecía que la veía como una especie de jarrón que pudiera romperse y volver a pegarse como si tal cosa, pero ella sabía que si pasaba lo peor, si se hacía añicos como de cristal, algunos fragmentos se perderían para siempre.

When our hearts break, they break into shards that cannot be easily fit back together.

The strands of my soul which should weave together to create a life have shredded and ripped into fragments so tangled up that I have no hope of setting them free. I

This puts education and educators in the position of bringing up the rearguard, of holding desperately to the fragments of an educational system which, in its form, content, and assessments, is deeply rooted in an antiquated mode

È, quella infinita tempesta, Finita in un rivo canoro. Dei fulmini fragili restano Cirri di porpora e d'oro.