Quotes About Heartache

A brave heart? It feels like a swollen and aching thing in my chest.

To protect my heart, this is what I would have to do with Snow Flower. I couldn't let anyone know I was dying from anguish that she no longer loved me.

A woman isn't just one thing. The past is in us, constantly changing us. Heartache and failure shift perspectives as do joy and triumphs.

All women on earth-and men too, for that matter-hope for the kind of love that transforms us, raises us up out of the everyday, and gives us the courage to survive our little deaths: the heartache of unfulfilled dreams, of career and personal disappointments, of broken love affairs.

All we can do is take their pain and carry it in our hearts, That's a mother's love... love and pain.

Love, a promise delivered already broken.

What seems to be love beyond any question is usually a simple case of indigestion.

Love was long gone, in her. She got by on a starvation diet of loyalty these days.

I didn't know how much I could love until you were gone. Until your laughter no longer filled my home, your wicked high jinks no longer made me crazy. Until I stood in that damned club and knew, without you by side, my life was as empty as my bed was without you in it. I didn't know what love was, until I saw my refusal to admit it drown all the sweet innocence in your eyes. I love you.

He is not coming back. And it hurt.It hurt until she was a mass of pain,worse than it had been when she thought he was dead. More all consuming. Ravaging her insides.

Yes, he would be gone, but she knew now what it meant to love. She might not know what it meant to be loved, but loving was almost as good.

Do you love me, Alex?" Janey already knew the answer. She knew, but it still tore a hole in her heart to see the answer in his face. "Don't believe in fairy tales, sweetheart." He sighed, touching her cheek with his fingertips. "Sometimes I forget how young you are." How young she was? As though age had anything to do with love. Since when?

Liquore just don't mix with love.

You couldn't pretend you had lost nothing... you had to begin there, not let your blood freeze over. If your heart turned away at this, it would turn away at something greater, then more and more until your heart stayed averted, immobile, your imagination redistributed away from the world and back only toward the bad maps of yourself, the sour pools of your own pulse, your own tiny, mean, and pointless wants.

It is unacceptable, all the stunned and anxious missing a person is asked to endure in life. It is not to be endured, not really.

And yet the deprivation of her intimacy had made a small dent in his heart, and in his breathing, and in the hard candy of his eyes. The thought of her was everywhere but nowhere—an omniscient narrator.

I feel his lack of love for me.

What is beautiful is seized, my mother said a final time, speaking of my father, whom she said had been destroyed by too many women, a heart picked over, scratched at, taken, lost. It came to me in bulky bandages, seeming much larger, much more than it really was.

The speech she made was done in the back, alone, like little shoes cobbled by an elf: spider is to web as weaver is to blank. That one was hers. She was proud of that. Also, blank is to heartache as forest is to bench.

The speech she made was done in the back, alone, like little shoes cobbled by an elf: spider is to web as weaver is to blank. That one was hers. She was proud of that. Also, blank is to heartache as forest is to bench. But

My next thought was for Lord Suckling's charming song: 'I prithee send me back my heart / Since I cannot have thine.

I wish I had no heart, it aches so…

nothing remained but loneliness and grief…

It's bad enough to love someone who don't love you, but to have them told of it is perfectly awful. It makes me wild just to think of it. Ah, Fan, I'm getting so ill tempered and envious and wicked, I don't know what will happen to me. - Polly